


Victorious

by sabaceanbabe



Series: Victorious-Rebellious [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Het Relationship, Community: het_bigbang, F/M, Het, Odesta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The war is over. The Capitol won. But you can only push people so far before they begin to push back... </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/497488">Fabulous cover art by alinaandalion</a></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/user/SabaceanBabe/media/victorious02_zpsc854c511.png.html">
      <img/></a><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: forced abortion, forced prostitution, drug use, children killing children
> 
> I can't thank deathmallow enough for all her help as beta, and that in the face of a hurricane. ♥

Annie sits on the floor of the family room in front of the television, her arms wrapped around her knees in the darkness. The television provides the only light, illuminating her face as Finnick asks Peeta for his knife. She doesn’t want to watch, but she can’t look away – if she looks away, something awful will happen to Finnick. She knows it’s irrational, but she can’t shake that feeling, and so she sits on the floor and she watches and she rocks and she tries to hold the specter of the arena she never left at bay.

“Annie, dear, is everything alright?” Finnick’s mother asks from the doorway. Jenna doesn’t turn the lights on and Annie is grateful for that. Darkness is best. It’s safer in the dark. Easier to hide.

“I can’t sleep,” Annie says into the crook of her elbow. Finnick presses the point of the borrowed knife to the inside of his right arm and Annie finds the same spot on her left arm with her thumb, a tiny lump beneath her skin. “Can’t sleep,” she repeats. Finnick slices deep, digging for something with the knife tip as the blood flows to drip onto his knee. Annie focuses on the red stream and then she closes her eyes against it, but it doesn’t go away.

“What in the world is he doing?” Jenna’s confusion is palpable as she watches her son damage his own arm.

“The tracker,” Annie whispers, rocking, her eyes still closed, her vision drowned in red. “He’s cutting out the tracker.” She presses her thumbnail against the tiny lump on her forearm, running her nail back and forth, back and forth, trying to cut through her own skin, but her thumbnail will never be sharp enough. The trackers biodegrade after a year, that’s what they told her. Long enough for the arena and the Victory Tour, but not forever. But what if they lied? What if they don’t stop working? What if the lump in her arm is transmitting her location to the Capitol even now? What if she truly never left the arena? What if that isn’t all in her head?

Jenna lowers herself to the floor beside Annie and pulls her into her arms. “Hush, Annie. He’ll be alright.” Annie lets her think that’s all she’s worried about.

“He has to be.” Annie hates the lost note in her own voice, but she can’t stop that anymore than she can sleep or she can cut the tracker from her arm or she can fly to the arena and carry Finnick away. She leans into Jenna, lets some of that almost unshakeable calm flow into her. The siren song of the arena begins to fade along with the pain in her arm. Annie looks down, sees the smear of blood, dark against her skin, crescent shaped and welling as she watches. While Jenna strokes Annie’s hair, Annie pushes at the lump, herding it toward the unexpected tear in her skin. Apparently, her nail was sharp enough after all.

The light of the television flickers again. There is no sound. She didn’t want to wake anyone. Everyone else is asleep, save for Annie and now Jenna. Things in the arena are moving faster than anyone anticipated and Finnick’s father wants them all to be up and away well before dawn. A million years ago, it seems, Thomas promised his son to keep them all safe while Finnick did what he had to do in the arena. A million years ago, it seems, Thomas promised his son to take Annie far out to sea, to hide her away from the Capitol before the Capitol could come for her. The stinging in Annie’s arm tells her that they’re far too late.

There is a knock at the front door and both Annie and Jenna jump. It’s not yet midnight in the arena, but here it’s approaching 1:00 a.m. The two women look at each other as the knock sounds again, louder, more insistent. Provisions for a long voyage weigh down the fishing boats tied up at the family dock, and as things stand in District 4, those provisions alone are evidence of treason. Reason enough for the Capitol to take them all, not just Annie.

Annie rolls to her feet and hauls Finnick’s mother up with her as his father runs down the stairs to the sound of a fist pounding on the door. “What the hell?”

“Peacekeeper business!” a man shouts, his voice muffled. “Open the door!” More pounding. Clinging tightly to Jenna’s hand, Annie sways where she stands, the blood roaring in her ears.

Thomas has his hand on the knob when the door bursts open and a Peacekeeper shoves him back, pins him against the wall with a rifle held as a bar across Thomas’ throat. More Peacekeepers follow, spreading out into the entryway, surrounding Annie and Jenna. The noise awakens the rest of the family; Annie can hear them stirring.

“This is a peaceful household,” Thomas protests. “What right do you have—?” The Peacekeeper presses his rifle into Thomas throat, choking off his words.

A man wearing the badge of the Head Peacekeeper steps into the entryway. Annie feels the dark waters of the arena tug at her, call to her, swirl around the Peacekeepers in their white uniforms until they bleed into her vision, turning it white at the edges. She tries to blink it away, but it doesn’t work, the whiteness only grows, shot through by dark lightning. The head gestures with one black-gloved hand and a woman steps over to Annie and pulls her hands behind her back and locks her wrists into cold metal cuffs. She leads Annie to the door. No one answers Thomas’ interrupted question. No one says a word until Annie breaks the silence.

“No,” she says, louder than she means, and stops cold. The Peacekeeper’s fingers tighten around her arm as she continues to pull her along, but Annie fights. She doesn’t know what they’ll do to her in the Capitol – nothing good – only that Finnick adamantly did not want her there. And she’s suddenly sure that’s where they’re taking her. “No!” Annie shouts and tries to break free, but with her hands locked behind her back, she’s off balance and can’t pull away. A second Peacekeeper grasps Annie’s arm above the elbow and, between the two of them, the Peacekeepers all but lift Annie from her feet. No matter how wildly she thrashes, they don’t let her go.

Finnick’s father shouts her name and Annie struggles harder. She succeeds in jerking an arm free and takes a step away, back toward the illusory safety of the house, only to fall to her knees as the other Peacekeeper refuses to let go her hold. She yanks Annie roughly to her feet, the other regains his grip, and they half-drag, half-carry Annie up the ramp into a hovercraft waiting in front of the Odairs’ home. The ramp rises almost as soon as she’s on board, cutting off sight and sound, but before it does, Annie hears shouting, shattering glass, the sharp report of gunfire.

The hovercraft lifts off from the ground, circles out over the water and Annie looks down, her cheek pressed against cold glass. Below the hovercraft, out in the gulf, Victors’ Island is burning, and as the circle widens and the hovercraft flies back over the mainland toward the Capitol, Annie sees that it isn’t just Victors’ Island.

Half of District 4 is burning.

xXx

Finnick sits in the middle of a crowded hallway in the middle of the bunker that is District 13 and frantically works knots. Even that is a victory of sorts, because for days and days, he doesn’t know how many days, they wouldn’t trust him with even a small length of rope, afraid that he might harm himself. To be honest, they were right to fear that, although he doesn’t know why anyone here would even care.

His home is gone. His family is scattered across what’s left of District 4, half of them in hiding, the other half leading the fight there against the Capitol, all of them hunted by Peacekeepers. And Annie… He bites back a sob and pulls the rope taut between his hands, destroying the half-finished knot, starts to work another. _At least they’re better off than Twelve_ , he thinks.

Every day, he sits in a room, sits tucked away in a corner, in a forgotten hallway, in a storage closet, in a utility shaft and works knots. Tries to lose himself in the patterns, in the texture of the rope against the pads of his fingers, the feel of the trailing end wrapped around his wrist or loose and dangling, rhythmically striking his arm or his knee, the tickle of it against his skin. The thin fibers held between sometimes shaking fingers are all he has to distract himself from what’s happening to Annie.

They ask him why he’s so agitated, why he can’t let it go, how he can be so sure they’re hurting her and not simply asking her questions for which she has no answers. But he knows what Snow’s interrogations are like. He knows. He knows. Rough Peacekeeper hands. Lies and manipulation and half-truths _twisted_ until you don’t know what’s real and what’s false. Needles and pills that they force you to swallow. They won’t stop until they break her, until she tells them everything she knows, but she doesn’t know anything and so they won’t stop. They won’t ever stop.

Finnick frantically works knots until his fingers bleed and he tries hard not to cry or, barring that, to stop crying. If he could only stop crying, then maybe they’d let him do something, something useful, anything at all. He’d do anything if it would help her. They’re destroying her, Snow is destroying her, breaking her into tiny, jagged little pieces and it took her so long to put those pieces back together the first time. And the second time. The third time. He doesn’t want there to be a fourth time. He thinks maybe she could handle it, if there is; he knows that he can’t. And so he’ll do anything if it will help her. Help Annie.

“Finnick, you don’t have to do this.” Finnick stares at Haymitch and, beyond him, at Plutarch and the lights and the microphones and the sound crews and camera crews, wonders how it came to this. But he knows. He knows. He focuses on those lights and those cameras and for the first time in weeks, the buzzing inside his head stills. He closes his fist around the fraying piece of rope, white once, but now nearly as gray as the clothing he wears or the walls that surround him or the people who live here.

“If it’ll help her,” he whispers and he thinks maybe he said that already, but it doesn’t matter; it bears repeating.

Finnick takes his place on the tall stool centered in a puddle of light and he looks into the camera, feels things inside his head rearrange, shift into old patterns hard learned. He straightens his back, his shoulders, lifts his chin and pulls on the mask he’s lived behind for years. He can’t do this himself. He can’t. And so he becomes someone else once more, someone he never liked but who he couldn’t survive without. He nods to Plutarch.

“I’m ready.” He doesn’t know if he says it aloud or only in his head, but it must have been aloud because everyone around him stops what they’re doing to focus on him. He, on the other hand, after a glance at Haymitch, who knows some of what he’s about to reveal, focuses on Katniss, the only other person in the room who might possibly understand what it means to him. Maybe not what he has to say – how could she? – but the reasons that he has to say it, has to acknowledge it once and for all and in such a public way, because if it will help Annie, it will help Peeta, too. He stares at the camera’s red eye and begins, his voice calm, steady.

“President Snow used to sell me. My body, that is…”

xXx

She doesn’t know how long it lasts, how much time passes. There is light. There is dark. One after the other, time and again. There are voices, some friendly and some… not. None of it matters. She doesn’t exist.

They ask her questions. She answers them. They ask more questions, pretend that they’re different questions, but they’re not. Always the same, just the words or the order rearranged. But they keep asking, over and over, never satisfied with the answers she gives. She tells them the truth, which usually means that she tells them she doesn’t know. And when they keep asking and asking and asking and ignoring her answers, she thinks that maybe she does exist, after all, but that she doesn’t matter. Eventually, she tunes them out. And eventually, they stop asking.

The darkness fades again to light and they lead her from her cell. That’s new. Always before they asked their questions here, where the others – people she doesn’t know but who seem to know her – where the others can hear and see. She hears their voices, the others, when the Peacekeepers take her away, shouting after her, sounding agitated, upset, but their words don’t penetrate; they bounce off of her and fall meaningless to the concrete floor.

There are no more questions. They take her to a room with more people she doesn’t know and they wash her and they dry her and they paint her and they inject her with something to make sure she won’t turn violent. She doesn’t think she would, doesn’t think she’d hurt anyone, but she doesn’t know, so she can’t really blame them for doing something to be sure of it. Whatever they inject her with makes everything rainbow bright at the edges.

They leave her in another room. A room with no people, just a bed. There’s no other furniture, no artwork on the walls, no carpet or rug on the hardwood floor. Nothing else. Just a bed. Nothing she could use to hurt herself or to hurt someone else. Just a bed. But when they leave her alone and naked with nothing but that bed, she remembers green eyes and bronze hair, white teeth and tan skin and a voice that makes her shiver and yearn and she knows that a bed can cut just as deeply as any knife.

She waits for something to happen. And she waits. She doesn’t want to touch that bed and so finally she puts her back to the wall farthest from the bed, the painted surface smooth and almost slick against her skin. She lowers herself to the floor. And she waits.

Shouts and sharp cracks of sound pierce the silence of the room. They grow louder. Closer? Maybe, but definitely louder. A heavy something strikes the only door and she looks in that direction.

The door bursts open and she blinks. She doesn’t move except to cover her ears with her hands. She tries to make herself seem smaller. She wants to be invisible. But that’s not possible. Is it? She blinks again. People swarm into the room. They’re dressed all in gray and they carry guns. They stare. She stares. No one moves.

No one moves until a young man – just one more person she doesn’t know, but then she thinks maybe she doesn’t know any of them, isn’t sure if he or they or she is really even here – takes her gently by the hand and makes her rise up from the floor. There is a word stitched into his shirt: Hawthorne. He wraps her in a sheet, cold against her skin, making her tremble, and when she doesn’t move to follow him and the others as they leave the room and its bed, he lifts her in his arms and carries her. People talk around her, she hears words, but none of them sink in. She doesn’t stir when they get to wherever they’re going and they tell her she’s safe. More meaningless words. Safe doesn’t exist.

But then someone else leads her out into a hallway with gray walls and a gray concrete floor and even the grayness is rainbow bright around the edges and everything stops. The noise stops and the grayness stops and the colors stop and her heart and lungs stop because he’s there.

Finnick is there and he’s real and Annie is in his arms and he’s in her arms and they are the only thing that matters.

xXx

Finnick watches Annie dance. She dances with Haymitch. She dances with Plutarch. With Peeta and with Gale and with Dalton. He never thought this day would come. He never thought this day was a possibility, not even in his most optimistic dreams. Lifting a glass of grape juice to his lips, wishing it was champagne – Annie deserves champagne – or a half decent wine, he nearly spills it down his borrowed suit when Johanna hip-checks him. Half the juice sloshes over his hand.

Grinning, Johanna salutes him with her own juice as he sets his now sticky glass down on a nearby table and picks up someone’s abandoned napkin, soaking it in water from one of the pitchers waiting to refill emptied glasses. He wipes juice from his hand.

“That could’ve been a lot more fun,” Johanna observes.

He mock scowls at her, far too happy to give her the real thing, even though part of him still waits for the other shoe to drop. “I don’t even know who this suit belongs to, Jo,” he admonishes. “I can’t give it back stained.” She shrugs and it breaks Finnick’s heart to see how thin her shoulders are. Three weeks since they rescued Annie and Johanna and Peeta from the Capitol and Jo still looks like she hasn’t eaten in months.

“Who cares?” she asks, still grinning, and at least that hasn’t changed, her I-don’t-give-a-shit grin, even if there is a new edge beneath her words. “It’s not like anyone around here needs to look pretty anyway.” She gives him a once over, glances across the cavernous dining room that Plutarch turned into a wedding hall to where Annie dances with a dark-haired boy Finnick doesn’t immediately recognize. “Present company excepted, of course,” Johanna says, looking back up at Finnick. She doesn’t look away and her expression softens.

“What?” he asks, half smiling.

“I was just trying to figure out what’s wrong with your face,” she tells him. He doesn’t rise to the bait.

“And?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you happy before.”

He starts to give her a smart remark, but stops as he realizes she’s right. He has known Jo for as long as he has known Annie and he is pretty damned sure that he could never have survived to reach this point without her, not and remain even remotely sane. And while there were good days in the years they’ve been friends, been something more complicated than simply friends, he can’t think of a single day that he could say he was happy. Not until today.

“I don’t think I’ve been happy since I was a kid.” He frowns and Johanna reaches up to smooth the lines away with a fingertip.

“It looks good on you, Odair.” Her smile is wistful when she offers “I’m glad they brought her back to you.”

xXx

The people in charge of District 13, whoever they are, allow them three days. Three days to be newly married and alone with each other, no outside interference, no one to tell them what to do or when to do it. Three days to just be Annie and Finnick, Finnick and Annie. The Odairs.

For the first of those three days, Annie and Finnick don’t leave the tiny bed in his room for anything other than food and water and the needs that arise because of those breaks for food and water.

On the second day, they venture out of his room and Finnick shows her all the best places to hide from anyone who might be looking for them. They come across Katniss in one – Annie thinks it must be a storage closet – hiding from an appointment with Dr. Aurelius, something that will resume for both Annie and Finnick in just a couple of days. The three of them exchange pleasantries as if it’s an everyday occurrence, finding each other in a closet like that, and then Finnick leads Annie to another hiding place that he knows, leaving Katniss to her solitude.

The final day they’re so graciously given – Annie snickers at the thought and Finnick grins at her even though he doesn’t know what she’s laughing at, all white teeth and green eyes and so beautiful and so hers that it makes her heart ache to look at him – they spend moving their meager belongings to the larger quarters set aside for married couples. And by “larger,” the people in charge mean two rooms instead of only one.

Just thinking about it all makes laughter bubble up inside Annie. So much laughter, all of it demanding to be released, but today, a week after Finnick became her husband and she his wife – she will never tire of that particular thought and she will never forget it, either, the way she has forgotten so many other things – they tell her, the people in charge, that she is to be Soldier Recruit Odair and she bites her lip to keep that bubbling laughter contained. She isn’t “mad” or “crazy” here in 13, just “mentally disoriented.” The bracelet she spins around her wrist says so.

“What’s so funny?” Peeta whispers, standing beside her in the tiny room, both of them waiting while Dr. Aurelius confers with Officer Nolan about just how to handle President Coin’s decision that she and Peeta become soldiers. It’s amazing, really, how difficult it is to not laugh out loud, thinking about her and Peeta as soldiers. It’s so hard for either of them to concentrate on just one thing at a time, these days. Annie bites her lip harder against the incipient laughter, only stops at the sudden coppery tang of blood on her tongue.

“Everything is funny,” she tells Peeta in all seriousness. He looks dubious and she nearly loses it again. Annie looks away from him, focuses on a dark spot on the gray concrete wall. The spot looks like a sea turtle digging a nest in the sand and it makes her smile, which is just one step away from laughing and she’s trying hard not to.

She tries to settle her mind by running through the mantra Dr. Aurelius taught her: _My name is Annie Odair. I am twenty-three years old. I was born in District Four, but now I live in District Thirteen. My husband (My husband!) is Finnick Odair._ Really, she doesn’t want to disappoint Dr. Aurelius, but Finnick taught her the litany years before, and he learned it from Haymitch and he learned it from… Annie doesn’t know who Haymitch learned it from, but it doesn’t matter. Different words, but the same purpose: steering a steady course through murky waters, something Annie is intimately familiar with, although she doesn’t always succeed.

The door opens a crack and she and Peeta both straighten, but that crack doesn’t widen. Voices drift through it, though. “We both have our orders, Doctor. Although how I’m going to turn a couple of mental patients into effective soldiers, I have no idea.”

“You don’t have to send them into battle, Officer Nolan. President Coin wants them to be convincing as soldiers for propos, since the other victors won’t be available much longer.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise, either,” the other man, Officer Nolan, grumbles. “They’re all dangerous. A bunch of loose cannons, if you ask me.” Annie and Peeta look at each other and the laughter inside Annie turns flat.

“’Other victors won’t be available?’” she repeats, troubled. Finnick began accelerated military training on day four after their wedding. Peeta shakes his head; he doesn’t know what it means, either, but Annie believes, suddenly and irrevocably, that they’re going to take Finnick away from her again. She starts to shake, runs through the mantra in earnest.

“My name is Annie Odair. I am twenty-three years old. I was born in District Four. I live in District Thirteen. My husband is Finnick Odair.” She says it out loud without realizing it. Her hands shake and it’s getting hard to breathe, her lungs can’t pull in enough air past the constriction around her chest. Peeta reaches over and takes her left hand in his right.

“It’ll be okay, Annie. They’re not going to hurt us here.” He’s trying to give her strength, to make her understand with her heart and not just her head that she isn’t alone, just as he and Johanna both did, for Annie and for each other, buried in their cells beneath the Capitol.

“How do you know that?” She meets his eyes. “How do you know that, Peeta? President Coin. President Snow. No difference. Both using us for their own ends.”

The door opens the rest of the way and Dr. Aurelius steps out. “Ah, Annie. Peeta. Officer Nolan and I were just discussing your training.” Annie and Peeta glance at each other as he continues, “I believe the repetitive nature of military training in general will help both of you to become more… focused in your new lives here in Thirteen.”

“Less mentally disoriented?” Peeta asks, looking down at the bracelet on his own wrist.

“Yes, exactly.” The edge of irony in Peeta’s tone is completely lost on the doctor. _He’s so humorless_ , she thinks and starts to laugh again, although it’s not an easy or a comfortable sound. Not anymore.

And so Annie’s life changes again. She and Peeta join a group of new recruits, all of whom are much younger even than Peeta, let alone Annie. At twenty-three, she feels old. They train as a group, learning how to break down, clean, and reassemble various firearms; how to use a knife in hand-to-hand combat; how to block blows; how to recover from a fall; how to attack and how to retreat. She’s exhausted by the end of each day, but yet not too tired to make love with her husband each night, and then afterward to tell him about her day and listen as he tells her of his.

Almost three weeks to the day after the wedding, President Coin sends Finnick’s squad to the Capitol. Coin says it’s to film propos that will resonate more deeply with the citizens of the Capitol, seeing such recognizable rebels in the heart of the Capitol itself, but Annie hears rumblings that the war isn’t going well for Coin and that she’s hoping the sight of Finnick and especially Katniss will bring more people to her side.

Annie cries that night. She can’t help it. Bad things happen when she and Finnick are apart. She knows he feels it, too. They cling to each other, but just like when Snow used to summon him, the morning comes and she has to watch him leave, wondering if this might be the time that he doesn’t come back. Before, she worried that Snow might want to keep him for good, but now she worries that Coin is sending Finnick to the Capitol to die.

Finnick goes and Annie stays and she and Peeta continue their training. A week passes, every day the same, every night lonely. Word comes that a member of Finnick’s squad – not Finnick! – was killed in some kind of accident and Peeta receives orders to the Capitol as the soldier’s replacement. Before he leaves, though, President Coin changes the orders, sends Annie along with Peeta, reasoning that the propos will be more effective on the Capitol citizens with more young and attractive victors starring in them. Annie is dubious as to that reasoning, but she doesn’t protest. If she goes, too, she’ll be with Finnick, and nothing else really matters.

xXx

A lizard mutt takes a swipe at Cressida, but misses. Another snipes at Gale’s throat, misses that target, but catches his shoulder, sending him spinning backwards toward the mutt that caught him and all the other mutts behind that one. Finnick rushes them, grabbing Gale’s wrist and propelling him forward and away, mutts at their heels, all hissing Katniss’ name in roiling, boiling, inhuman rage. The stench of roses and rot is nearly overwhelming. Behind them Homes screams as yet more lizard mutts begin to tear him apart and Finnick clamps down on the need to turn and help him. From the sound of his screams, there is no helping him.

Even so, Gale starts to turn, clearly intending to either shoot the mutts on Homes or shoot Homes himself, but Finnick pushes him forward. “No time. Move! Move! Move!”

They hit the ladder, Finnick crowding Gale, pushing him upward. He can feel the hot breath of the mutts even through his uniform trousers, through his boots, but he doesn’t risk a look down. Another shove at Gale, and Pollux and Katniss pull the younger man up and through the opening.

Finnick slips, slides down one rung, two, burning, searing pain in his left calf as claws tear at his flesh, hook into the top of his boot and into his muscles and try to wrench him from the ladder. He screams, nearly drops his rifle. Worse even than the pain is the terror as the mutt that has him almost pulls his hand from the rung he clings to, but then Gale has his wrist and yanks him sharply up. Pollux grabs his other hand and the two men haul Finnick up and out as the mutt’s claws shred his calf and Katniss shouts, “Nightlock nightlock nightlock!”

She throws something past Finnick’s head. As soon as he’s clear, they slam the hatch closed with a heavy metallic clang and Cressida spins it shut. The world shakes with the force of the explosion down below and the survivors look at each other, sorrow and grim determination etched onto their faces. Pollux takes off his belt and wraps it tight around Finnick’s thigh, a tourniquet to slow the bleeding as they continue on.

xXx

Annie and Peeta stay with Tigris for as long as they can after the others leave, but Peacekeepers pound on her door only an hour or so later. From the basement, it’s hard to tell whether they’re looking for rebels or they’re demanding Tigris evacuate, but the two of them remove all evidence that anyone was ever there, gather up their gear so they can leave at a moment’s notice. Neither of them mentions the possibility they’ll have to fight their way out, but it’s understood in the way they stand facing the stairs, their weapons held loosely but ready.

Things above go quiet and a short time later Tigris opens the door. Without a word, she leads Annie and Peeta to another door in the basement, hidden behind what appears to be a normal wall. It leads to a utility shaft inside the walls, narrow and without much head room. It’s uncomfortable, claustrophobic, but they make it out into the streets of the Capitol. Colorful, terrified refugees quickly surround them.

Young and old alike, the talk on everyone’s lips is about the rebels invading the Capitol, about how the Mockingjay and her friends are in the city and they’re murdering people in their sleep. There is an explosion in the distance, accompanied by shouts and screams. As the throng of frightened people she and Peeta are a part of continue heading up the street, away from Tigris’ shop, Annie hears someone say that the president is opening his home to the refugees. Someone else says that he overheard a battalion of Peacekeepers ordered to the president’s mansion.

“Do you think Katniss and the others got through?” Peeta asks, worry and hope at war on his face.

Annie shakes her head, shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe?” Still moving forward, part of the crowd, she spins around. Everywhere, as far as she can see, there are people. Some look like they’re wearing everything they own, some look like they hit the streets directly from their beds. Still others look like this is just a normal day as they go about their morning routine. But all of them are heading in the same direction: toward the City Circle and the president’s mansion. As they pass through a large intersection, a platoon of Peacekeepers joins them. Annie turns back to Peeta, continues walking.

“We should do something about them.” She gestures toward the white uniforms marching in an orderly fashion beside the disorderly civilians. Peeta nods once, short and sharp.

“If they’re chasing us, they’re not going after Katniss and the others.” He frowns, glances over at the Peacekeepers and then back to Annie. “We need to get their attention.”

“I have some smoke grenades and flash bombs in my pack…”

After a brief and whispered on-the-fly discussion, she and Peeta split up, each taking half of the grenades and bombs from her pack, leaving it much lighter, more suitable for running. As surreptitiously as she can, Annie arms a flash bomb and rolls it in front of her, quickly followed by a smoke grenade. They explode almost simultaneously, sending the crowd into a panicked stampede in the opposite direction, away from the City Circle. Seconds after Annie’s bombs go off, Peeta’s add to the chaos. Annie tries to make her way through the crowd, to meet back up with Peeta, but the wave carries her along for a moment and she trips, falls. Someone’s hard-soled shoe connects with her head and she loses consciousness.

When she comes to, Peeta is gone and she is in Peacekeeper custody, her hands cuffed behind her back. _Nothing new about that_ , she thinks and begins to laugh. Her Peacekeeper guards look at her like she’s crazy. “You have no idea,” she tells them, responding to something that was never said. She laughs even harder.

Annie is close enough to see it when the hovercraft drops the bombs near the president’s mansion, but far enough away that the fire storm when those bombs detonate doesn’t touch her. There is a second round of explosions that cause pandemonium. As the smoke clears and the Peacekeepers she’s with draw closer to the president’s mansion, the area surrounding which is the source of the explosions, Annie grows sick at the sight of the bodies that litter the ground. The rebel forces stand in the City Circle staring at those small bodies, stunned. Most of the dead are children.

And then the Peacekeepers begin to fire on the rebel soldiers, cutting them down where they stand.

Annie begins to scream.

xXx

During the days that follow the districts’ surrender to Capitol forces, the government tries and executes most of the rebel leaders. Alma Coin and Plutarch Heavensbee are the first to die. They allow a few, mainly victors of the Hunger Games, to live as examples to the districts, yet another weapon in the arsenal to keep them all under the Capitol’s control. And, too, at least half of those victors who remain, Snow can use to rebuild the government treasury. Looking around him at the familiar faces of his friends, Finnick shudders at that thought. It was an expensive war.

It’s just over three months after the rebellion’s collapse, and Snow has gathered his rebel victors in his office for the terms of their punishment: None of them are to have any contact with each other at any time save for when they are all in the Hunger Games complex immediately before, during, and after the Games. Once a new victor is crowned and returns to his or her home district, they will all return to their non-Games duties.

Snow orders Lyme, taken during the failed battle for the “Nut,” to solitary confinement in a cell beneath the stronghold that she tried so hard to take. Her presence there is highly publicized within District 2 as an example for those who think to defy the Capitol.

Following two weeks of interrogation and several more in custody with no decision regarding her status, Snow accepts that Enobaria was not a party to the rebellion with her fellow victors. He allows her, as the only non-rebel of the remaining victors, to go free. She returns to District 2 to help rebuild.

Peacekeepers fit Beetee with a permanent tracker and place him in the Capitol’s weapons research and development department, doing essentially the same job he had in District 13.

Haymitch he sends back to District 12 to live under house arrest in Victors’ Village, an example to and hostage for the good behavior of the other rebel victors, his only remaining family.

Katniss and Peeta each will be sold to multiple clients, whoever pays Snow’s asking price.

Finnick will be sold at auction to the highest bidder on a long-term contract, renewable on the anniversary of the sale if the client so chooses. Snow doesn’t explain his decision to limit Finnick’s exposure to clients, where before he was so generous with Finnick’s time and body.

Annie, four months pregnant and still in shock at that knowledge, will also be sold, just like Katniss and Peeta. But, Snow bluntly tells her, no one wants a pregnant whore, and so, before that part of her sentence commences, he gives the order to terminate her pregnancy.

xXx

Annie sits on the floor of her cell and watches Finnick through the bars. Since they didn’t see fit to put them in cells directly across from each other, she sits in the only place where she can see him. He’s leaning against the side wall of his cell, long legs stretched out in front of him, watching her. They don’t speak. They just wait.

Peacekeepers already took Lyme to her new home: a maximum security cell, buried deep underground in District 2. Enobaria left with Lyme, since she was returning to District 2 anyway. Beetee is on his way to a facility somewhere outside the Capitol. Five victors remain representing two rebel districts and, judging by the order of disposition so far, Annie and Finnick will be up next, allowing Haymitch and Katniss and Peeta to stew just that much longer.

Snow is picking them off one at a time.

A sound at the other end of the cell block, nearer to the outside world, makes all five of them turn in that direction. Across from Annie, Katniss stands. Finnick does the same, moving toward the door to his cell, wrapping his fingers around the bars. Annie stays where she is, in no hurry to put herself in a position that will make her easier to remove from her cell. She curls her arms protectively around her unborn child, the motion drawing Finnick’s attention. He makes a wordless sound and she looks over at him. His lips move as he watches her and she doesn’t need to read them to know what he says because the same litany runs through her mind.

_My name is Annie Odair. I am 23 years old. I am the victor of the 70th Hunger Games. I am married to Finnick Odair. I love him and he loves me. We are rebels. We lost._

Over and over the mantra repeats. She thinks it may be the only thing that keeps her from screaming.

Footsteps approach, echoing from the metal and concrete walls. They stop in front of her cell and only then does Annie look away from her husband. Instead of making a barrier of her arms to protect the growing life inside her, now she curls her entire body around their child, as if that could somehow stop them from taking it from her. Something drips onto her bare arm. Her eyelashes, her cheeks are wet. Tears. Locking her arms around her legs, Annie begins to rock. The words she recited inside her head she now recites aloud, a whispered shield.

The door to her cell opens with a squeal of hinges. _Someone should oil those_ , she thinks.

“Please don’t do this.” Finnick’s pleading voice, strained, rough at the edges. No one else says anything.

“Miss Cresta, I need you to stand up.” Annie stops rocking, wipes her eyes against her arm, but doesn’t stand. “Miss Cresta. Stand up, please.” She wonders why he’s being so polite. What’s the point? But still she doesn’t stand. The man shifts with a creak of leather and steps into the cell.

A rattle of metal bars and “Leave her alone.” Finnick’s voice is stronger, but at the same time more ragged, not just rough at the edges but torn.

The Peacekeeper bends down and Annie surges to her feet, shoves him aside. She doesn’t wait for him to react. She dashes from her cell and past his white-uniformed partner, bare feet slapping at the concrete floor. Behind her six voices shout things at her, at each other. Only one of those voices matters. Finnick calls her name. Nothing else, just her name, over and over.

Annie almost makes it to the door before the Peacekeepers take her down. She falls. She goes under.

Nothing but white surrounds her when she opens her eyes again. White lights in a white ceiling surrounded by white walls. A white sheet covering her body where she lays in a bed that is no doubt also white, though she can’t see it. She lifts a hand, tries to bring it to her abdomen – have they already taken her baby? – but she can only move a couple of inches, if that. She glances at her hand, sees a green cloth band securing her wrist to the bed. Hysterical laughter bubbles up in her throat and rips free.

Someone shifts in the chair beside the bed. “Annie?” Finnick’s voice, worried, frightened. She laughs harder until she chokes on a sob.

“They’re green. They’re supposed to be white.”

Before Finnick can say anything to that, there is a buzz at the door. Two Peacekeepers move at the sound. One steps further into the room and turns so that she faces both the door and the bed on which Annie lies; the other steps farther to the side of where the door will open and presses a button. A moment later there is a click and a woman steps into the room, clipboard in hand.

Beside the bed, Finnick stands, but he moves slowly, awkwardly, his motions uncharacteristically graceless. Once he pushes the chair back with his knees, Annie sees why: they’ve cuffed his hands behind his back. He slides closer to Annie, shifts until he can take her left hand in both of his. It has to hurt him, the strain of it, but if it does, he makes no sign.

The woman looks up from her clipboard. “Miss Cresta? I’m Doctor Muhti.” She looks at Annie, but then her gaze shifts to Finnick and her eyes widen in recognition. There is a syringe in her hand. Annie whimpers. Waves, murky and cold, roar in her ears and she pulls at the restraints.

“Melissa,” Finnick says, his voice fragile, “please don’t do this.” Annie’s eyes fly to Finnick. _You know her?_ she wants to ask but all that comes out is another whimper.

The woman, Dr. Muhti, looks back and forth between Annie and Finnick, then down at the chart in her hands. She glances at the guards and frowns. “Pardon me for a moment, please.” She leaves the room and the door closes behind her. The Peacekeeper guards resume their stations. The only thing that stops Finnick from crushing Annie’s hand is the awkward position of his own.

“Finnick?” Annie whispers and he looks down over his shoulder toward her, then releases her hand and turns to face her. He drops to his knees beside the bed, bringing his face more or less level with Annie’s.

“I’m here, love, I’m here.” He leans toward her and she moves as far as the restraints allow, which isn’t far, but it’s enough. They kiss. The door buzzes and a moment later Dr. Muhti reenters.

“I’m sorry, but it’s time.” Her face is ashen and her hand is shaking and Annie thinks that maybe she really means it, that she’s sorry for what she’s about to do.

“Please,” Finnick murmurs against Annie’s lips and the dark waves of the arena that Annie never left roll and break inside her.


	2. The Calm Before the Storm

When Regina and Finnick walk through the door into President Snow’s Grand Ballroom, there is a woman dancing in the center of the room and she immediately draws Finnick’s gaze. Wearing midnight blue satin and surrounded by admirers, it takes him a moment to realize that it’s Annie and that she is dancing as though no one is watching her, completely unselfconscious as she hasn’t been since before she went into the arena. A wave of homesickness strikes him that isn’t just a longing for a place, but for a time and a woman as well.

Her dance comes straight from the shores of District 4. Mags taught her this particular folk dance years ago in the weeks following Annie’s Victory Tour. Back home in 4, away from the watchful eyes of the Capitol and from the ghosts of the Games and of the arena itself, Annie was just starting to come out from behind the walls she’d built to hide herself. She liked to dance and Mags used that to draw her further from that protective shell. The old woman had taught Finnick, too, when he was sixteen, right after Snow started selling him. It had been a particularly low point in his life up to then, and Mags helped to pull him out if it. Finnick watches Annie and smiles grimly. _Seems to be a theme._

Finnick feels the weight of Regina’s glare, but he can’t take his eyes off Annie as she sways and whirls. The skirt of her dress flows around her like dark water and every inch of skin exposed by her swirling dress shimmers blue and turquoise and amethyst, as though stained with all the translucent colors clear water can be. Her hair is short, hugging the contours of her head, a style more suited to Johanna than Annie, or so Finnick would have thought before tonight.

Regina says something to Finnick, but he doesn’t notice. She tries again, and again he misses it, lost in memories and the music of home and Annie. Some part of his brain does catch the sound of Regina’s voice and the twin spots of bright color that bloom in her cheeks, the flash of anger in her black eyes, but none of it makes an impression. Regina steps on his foot, and that Finnick notices with no difficulty at all.

“Stop being so obvious,” Regina snarls at Finnick. There’s a thread of jealousy in her voice. An older man standing nearby drags his attention away from Annie long enough to glance in their direction and chuckle.

Finnick takes a step to the side and turns away from Regina, doing his best to ignore her. She’s overreacting. It’s not as though he embarrassed her by leaving her standing in the doorway to run to his wife. _And how fucked up is it that I can’t go to my wife for fear of offending a woman who bought me?_ The older man takes a step closer to Finnick, his eyes again following Annie.

“She certainly is beautiful,” the man says, nodding toward Annie, which only adds fuel to Regina’s ire. “I don’t blame you at all for staring.” Finnick flashes a grin at the man and goes back to watching his wife dance, enjoying Regina’s irritation almost as much as his first sight of Annie in more than four months.

“You’re here with me, Finn, not her. Try to remember that.” Regina’s voice is flat and there’s a dangerous glint in her eyes, promising an unpleasant evening ahead. Any amusement he felt trickles away.

“Oh, Reg, I am well aware of that.” Beside Finnick, the older man raises a brow questioningly. Finnick closes his eyes and wishes he were someplace and sometime else, that it was just him and Annie and nothing and no one between them. He can’t think of a single thing he wants more in that moment than to dance with his wife.

“Do you know my lovely dancer?” Opening his eyes, Finnick looks at the man sharply.

“ _Your_ lovely dancer?” He feels suddenly sick, but the man smiles at him, oblivious.

“Well, she doesn’t precisely belong to me, no, but she is here with me this evening.” Regina smiles at that, knowing what it means to Finnick. She doesn’t care what it means for Annie.

“My evening is looking up,” she says meanly.

“You do know her then?” The man looks back and forth between Finnick and Regina, his expression that of a proud parent. Finnick frowns, wondering if he misjudged the man. _Maybe he’s not a client after all_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t believe it. “I’m a bit surprised,” the man continues, “given the way she was kept hidden away in her district after she won her Games.”

“She’s my wife.” Finnick somehow keeps his voice emotionless, steady. It’s not easy. The man’s brows shoot up again.

“You must be Finnick Odair, then,” he says, surprising Finnick. He thought all of the Capitol’s rich and powerful knew who he was, and for this man to be at a pre-Games party in the president’s own home, he can only be one of the Capitol’s rich or powerful.

“That’s me,” Finnick confirms. The man holds out his hand for Finnick to shake and Finnick studies him. He doesn’t recognize him. The man doesn’t have that jaded air that accompanies excess and ease over a long period of time and the cynical side of Finnick wonders if he grew rich profiting from the war. He finally takes the man’s proffered hand – if he antagonizes him too much, he might hurt Annie.

“Cornelius Brody,” the man introduces himself. “In spite of the brevity of the third Quarter Quell and the way it ended, you played both your Games magnificently.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Finnick was publicly convicted of treason months ago, his death sentence commuted to what amounted to – at best – indentured servitude; there’s no point in pretending that he loves the Capitol or its favorite way of controlling the districts: the Hunger Games.

Across the room, Annie twirls. Her dress flares out around her, the ripples in a midnight ocean, and Finnick sees that her stylist stained her legs to match her arms and shoulders. Her feet are bare and a pair of expensive shoes lays abandoned, kicked off to the side a few feet away from where she dances. His expression softens. _Why am I not surprised?_

“Finnick,” Regina says, “stop being so blatant. You’re staring.” She doesn’t seem to see the anger stirring inside Finnick through the familiar haze of her own. “It’s pathetic.”

Brody glances up at Finnick. “President Snow’s assistant mentioned when I made arrangements for Annie’s company tonight that you would be here, Mr. Odair.” Any hope that Brody isn’t Annie’s client dies with the observation. “I should have recognized you earlier.” Brody laughs ruefully, shaking his head. “He mentioned, too, that you and Annie had made some kind of district pledge to each other.”

 _District pledge?_ Finnick thinks, heartsick. The way Brody says it makes it clear that his and Annie’s marriage, the ceremony from District 4, solemnized in District 13, carries no weight in the Capitol. _Is that how Snow justifies this? He tells people it was just some quaint little ceremony? That it wasn’t real?_ Finnick clenches his jaw, bites back an unwise retort. He doesn’t know this man, has no idea what kind of power he wields in post-war Panem or what kind of damage he can do to Annie beyond the obvious.

Regina digs her fingers painfully into Finnick’s arm, bringing his attention back to her. “You’re mine, Finn, at least for another eight months. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to flaunt your lust for another woman for the whole world to see.” There is threat implicit in her tone.

The anger Finnick has kept banked for months flares. “You think I’m ‘flaunting’ something, Regina? You think _this_ is me being obvious?” He smiles at her, anything but amused. “I’ll give you obvious.” He jerks his arm free from the woman who bought him at auction four months earlier and stalks across the room, away from her and from Annie’s “date” for the evening.

Before he reaches Annie, he shrugs off the jacket he’s wearing and drops it onto a chair; he doesn’t notice or care if anyone is sitting there. When Annie spins close enough, he steps into her dance. Closing his hands around her waist, he lifts her high, spins her once in the air and catches her again, lowering her down his body, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. His anger disappears in the scent of her skin. The skirt of her dress wraps around both their legs as her breath catches and her eyes lock onto his.

And just like that, nothing and no one else exists but him and Annie. The music stops. Silence descends, a living presence. And then the musicians in the corner of the ballroom begin once more to play, a duel of sound, two guitars trading off, back and forth, melody and descant, a song of District 4 in honor of its two remaining victors.

Her eyes shining – _too bright_ , he thinks – Annie suddenly laughs, pulls out of Finnick’s arms, stamps her feet and claps her hands. Her eyes never leave his. He moves toward her and she dances away, her body – _too thin_ – swaying to the music that swirls around them, binding them together. Finnick follows her, giving chase, his own movements synchronized to Annie’s and to the beat. He catches her hand, swings her into his body until there is no more space between them. Again their eyes meet; her pupils are huge, the green of her irises nothing more than a thin ring around the black. _Oh, my love, what are you on? What did they give you?_

Every man and woman in that ballroom watches them as they dance. The tempo increases as they spin, break apart, come back together, their movements, their bodies perfectly matched, perfectly illustrating why poets and songwriters sometimes refer to lovemaking as a dance. Finnick’s awareness of everyone and everything else fades away until all that remains is Annie.

The music reaches a crescendo as Annie crashes back into Finnick’s arms. He bends her backward over his arm, her body a graceful arch from the pointed toes of her left foot to the smooth line of her throat, and again everything stops – the music, the dancers, the breathing of the audience. Once again, the room is utterly silent.

Finnick gazes down at his wife. Her hair would brush the floor, were it not cropped so close to her skull; he would mourn the loss of the soft, beautiful weight of it, but for the fact of her in his arms. The light sheen of sweat on her skin only adds to the shimmer of the watercolor makeup. Annie has never been more beautiful or more desirable, not to him. He isn’t even aware of what he’s doing until his lips and tongue touch the hollow at the base of her throat. He tastes her salt and her heat and he wants more.

At the light contact, she raises her head and their gazes lock. Her left hand splayed out across the small of his back, she reaches up with her right, threads her fingers into his hair and brings his face to hers. Tilting her head, she kisses his mouth. Their first kiss since Snow stole the life of their unborn son doesn’t end until the wild applause of the people that surround them – some friends, most enemies – penetrates the lust that Regina accused Finnick of flaunting, reminding him that they are not alone.

xXx

Nothing bad can break through the soft haze that surrounds Annie, a barrier to the world comprised of man-made chemicals and of Finnick Odair. President Snow told her she’d see Finnick tonight, warned her not to talk to him or touch him, even though she’d be in the same room with him. When she asked the president’s assistant to find her something to help her survive this party, Maximus Hopewell came back to her with something he called Cloud 9, a drug that can take away every care, every fear, every hurtful thing, exactly what Annie needed, at least for a few hours.

Tonight is the first time she’s had any contact with her husband since… since… Even under the influence of the 9, Annie’s mind shies away from a pain too great to bear. Her memories of that day are fragmented and probably always will be. The only thing that’s clear about it is that Snow took both Finnick and their dreams away from her.

But he’s here now. Finnick is here and they’re in each other’s arms and for the first time in months Annie feels something other than fear and emptiness. Their dance ends and she kisses him and he kisses her and Annie’s world shifts, rights itself. She can breathe again.

Finnick breaks off their kiss, but he doesn’t let her go, not right away, and she clings to him. He’s the only thing that can drive away the taste and feel of those others. She tries to pull him down again, wanting to hold onto the sweetness and the heat, to let it take away the cold, quiet wretchedness her life has become.

“Annie, we can’t,” he whispers against her mouth and the cloud of sound surrounding them resolves into applause, peppered by whistles and catcalls. Tears fill her eyes. They’re not supposed to even talk to each other, and yet they are as close as they can be without actually making love right here in front of dozens of the Capitol’s richest and most influential citizens, all of them invited by President Snow himself to this private celebration of the 76th Hunger Games. There will be consequences. There are always consequences.

Annie searches sea green eyes and sees reflected there her own sorrow and pain, knows that Finnick feels it just as keenly. He straightens and she lets him, follows his lead. “I love you,” she whispers before all these strangers that envelop them force them apart again. She tries to sink back into the fog of the 9, but a woman on the far side of the room, staring at her and Finnick, catches her eye, stops her from hiding.

“Is that her?” Annie asks as Finnick puts a bit of space between them, but still holds her left hand in his right. He nods, but doesn’t say anything about the dark woman watching them. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. She’s striking, if not beautiful. And she’s had Finnick all to herself for a longer stretch of time than Annie ever had – the longest Finnick ever could spend at home, away from the Capitol, was only about three months. “Is it bad, being with her?” Annie asks, reluctant to hear Finnick’s answer, regardless of which way it goes. She doesn’t even know the woman’s name. She’s sure Snow told her, but she forgets things.

Finnick doesn’t answer Annie’s question; it’s apparent that he doesn’t want to talk about it any more than Annie truly wants to hear it. Instead, he looks back down at their joined hands and frowns. Annie knows what he sees, what he’s focusing on: a shadowy band around her wrist, darker purple beneath the aquamarine and amethyst makeup.

“Did Brody hurt you?”

“How do you know who…?”

“Did he hurt you?” Annie doesn’t like the dangerous glint in Finnick’s eyes or the exaggerated enunciation of each word.

“No, Finnick, he didn’t. He hasn’t even touched me.” She doesn’t say “yet,” but they both hear it.

Finnick strokes his thumb over the bruises and searches her face, tells her “I hate this.” She sees the ghosts in his eyes and wonders how many of the women and men in this ballroom have had him over the years, how many of them left marks on _his_ skin, but she shuts that line of thought down. The 9 must be wearing off.

Annie looks away from her husband, notices Max frowning at them and reluctantly pulls her hand from Finnick’s. If Max is here, then Snow must be as well. Finnick’s fingers catch on the ring she wears, a pretty thing comprised of a white gold band and a yellow gold trident. “What’s this?” he asks, lifting her hand for a closer look at the ring. When he sees what it is, the look in his eyes sends lightning through every one of Annie’s nerve endings.

“I had it made.” Max had helped her. The money came from the Victors’ Fund, the only withdrawal she’d made from it.

“I’m surprised he let you keep it.” They both know who “he” is.

“He doesn’t know about it.” Finnick gives her a look.

“Don’t count on that.” He lifts her hand, kisses the back and then turns it over to kiss her palm and then the soft, discolored skin of her wrist, setting her pulse racing.

Annie smiles at Finnick then, her expression wistful. “Where there’s life, my love, there’s hope.”

As if he overheard their conversation from across the room, the crowd drifts and parts and President Snow stares at Annie and Finnick. Snow merely raises one brow and after a brief hesitation, Finnick steps away from her.

“One more week,” he says, releasing her hand. “Only seven days and we can be together.”

“I hate him so much for making me look forward to Reaping Day.” It remains unspoken between them all the other things they both hate Snow for.

The band begins to play again, an energetic song from District 12 in honor of Katniss and Peeta, who just arrived with their “dates.” Cornelius Brody pushes his way through the press of bodies, heading straight for Annie. With an apologetic look at Annie, Finnick turns away, but he doesn’t head for the woman who still watches him, rather he heads toward Enobaria, standing near the bar.

“May I have this dance?” Brody asks Annie, but the words don’t sink in until he brushes his hand down her bare arm. She jumps; she forgot he was there. She tries to cover it with a smile, but she’s sure it’s too wide, too many teeth.

“Of course, Mr. Brody.” As he spins her around the dance floor, she sees that Haymitch is there, too, half-sprawled across a couch beside Lyme, who wears a bright metal collar around her neck, twin red lights glowing at either side. Annie wonders what it is. Probably something meant to restrict her movements, control her, since she’s a victor and will be a mentor in the upcoming Games, just like the rest of them. Snow can’t very well keep her chained, but he can keep her leashed.

“What troubles you, my dear?” Brody asks and Annie realizes she’s frowning. She quickly pushes away the frown along with her less than happy thoughts, forces her expression into softer lines.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Brody.”

“Please, Annie, my name is Cornelius. I wish you’d used it.” She smiles up at him, wishing for a different pair of arms, wishing she looked into green eyes instead of brown. The light from the chandeliers above refracts and spins, soft around the edges, and Annie is glad of the reminder that the 9 is still in her system, not gone as she’d feared.

“I’m sorry, Cornelius. I’ll try to do better.” They spin around the dance floor again and Annie sees Finnick talking to Katniss, Peeta to Enobaria, all four of them at the bar, and she’s just beginning to wonder if Beetee is going to be there, too, when a man in Peacekeeper dress uniform escorts him into the ballroom.

Annie is aware of President Snow watching her, judging her behavior with her client, but after another song begins – a somewhat martial tune from District 2 – and Brody continues to keep her dancing, Snow’s attention finally leaves Annie to focus on whatever his Minister of Finance is saying. Annie doesn’t like the Minister of Finance, but she doesn’t think she’ll have to worry about entertaining him again: Finnick told her long ago, and Max confirmed it, that Snow doesn’t like to sell his victors to the same client twice, not unless there’s a truly exorbitant amount of money exchanging hands.

After the second dance, Annie excuses herself from Brody. “Do you mind if I go outside for a few minutes?” she asks, indicating the doors that lead to a courtyard and gardens beyond. It’s very warm in the ballroom with all the people and activity. A commotion near the bar draws Annie’s attention and she sees Katniss, looking angry, slam past Peeta and Max, knocking Max to the side as she storms through an open doorway and out of the ballroom.

“Certainly, lovely Annie, but don’t take too long. I shall be bereft without your charming company.” Annie turns back to him and he smiles at her. She fights off the urge to roll her eyes and hurries out into the courtyard before she loses the fight.

It’s dark outside. The bright lights of the City Circle shimmer like the Aurora Borealis that Annie has seen in pictures, beautiful and mesmerizing. _There must be a force field over the courtyard_ , she thinks. The perfume of roses is everywhere, rising up from the garden to mingle with the scents of other flowers that Annie doesn’t recognize. Surprisingly, those others are enough to blend with the roses, making them fade into the background. She heads to the center of the courtyard and the fountain there, the bricks cool and rough against the soles of her feet. She stands there in the center, her face raised to the light show above, enjoying the breeze and listening to the fountain and the hum and buzz of summer insects.

And then Finnick is there with her, a moth to her flame. She feels like a flame when he strokes his palms along her bare arms, slides his hands around her waist, pulls her back against his body. He nuzzles at the pulse point below her right ear. “I shouldn’t have followed you.”

“I’m glad you did.” She turns in his arms and he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him and once again, everything else dies away but the two of them. She abandons herself to the taste of him, salty and sweet on her tongue. She may be the flame, but it’s his heat that burns her and she abandons herself to that, too, to the feel of his body against hers, the solid presence of him in her arms. He smells like home.

Finnick drags his mouth away from Annie’s, drops to his knees in front of her. He lifts her skirt, tugs her underwear down over her hips, holds her steady as she steps out of them. He gathers her skirt in one hand near her waist as he bends her knee, props her foot on the bench Annie didn’t know was there until she felt it under her toes. She pushes her fingers into Finnick’s hair and he laughs deep in his throat, caresses her foot and ankle as he nuzzles her thighs, pushing them a little apart so he can kiss her there.

She moans when he licks into her and everything narrows to this one moment in time, to the man in front of her and the way he’s making her feel when someone clears his throat behind Finnick. He stiffens against her and Annie can’t help the little disappointed sound she makes when he stops what he was doing with his teeth and tongue. She doesn’t let go of his head and shoulders; if she lets go, she’ll fall.

“A prudent man would step away before more damage is done, Mr. Odair,” President Snow says mildly. Annie opens her eyes. Snow’s glitter in the light of the artificial aurora above. She looks down at Finnick, but she can’t read his expression as he slowly stands, letting her skirt fall to cover her. When he turns to face Snow, he does so carefully, placing himself between her and the President. Between her and the enemy.

“You may go, Miss Cresta,” Snow says, dismissing her even as he indicates that Finnick should stay where he is. Annie doesn’t move except to press her body against Finnick’s back. Finnick looks down over his shoulder at her.

“It’s okay, Annie. I’ll see you inside.”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Snow observes. Annie presses a kiss to Finnick’s shoulder through the thin silk of his shirt and hurries past the two men, heading back toward the ballroom. She’s past Snow, halfway between him and the door when his voice stops her.

“Miss Cresta.” She turns to see him holding out her underwear, dangling from one finger. “You might want these. Especially if you’re planning on dancing again.” After a brief hesitation while she debates with herself whether it’s worth it, she takes the few necessary steps to reach him and snatches them from his hand, hurrying back inside. She tries not to cry.

xXx

Following his talk with Snow, Finnick can’t cope with going back into that ballroom, seeing Annie with a client or spending any time at all with Regina. He feels like he’s going to shatter into a million pieces and if that happens again, he’s not sure he can put himself back together. Not this time.

He’s been inside the president’s mansion many times through the years; he knows where he can go that he won’t have to interact with another human being, not even an Avox, and so he slips into a room across the courtyard from the ballroom. It has a fireplace and a pair of comfortable armchairs with a table between and, in the corner farthest from the off-center fireplace, a small piano. Finnick sits on the bench and pokes at the keys, trying not to replay in his head the things Snow said to him. He’s never felt further away from home than he does right now.

He still doesn’t know where half his family is; they’re either in hiding somewhere in District 4 or dead. The other half are in Snow’s control, and thus Finnick is in Snow’s control, as much now as he ever was, maybe more. He ought to be used to it by now.

He picks out a tune on the piano, loses himself in the music for a bit, but then too many of the things he’s avoiding thinking about crowd in, threatening to drown him: Annie here tonight with another man; Annie with a series of other men; the promise in Regina’s eyes when he left her for Annie not once but twice, and the rage he saw there when he and Annie danced.

But worst of all is the memory, burning bright, of the lost look in Annie’s eyes as she felt their child die inside her in that cold and sterile room, so many months ago. Snow very deliberately reminded Finnick of that day, one of the worst in a long line of worsts. He stops playing and lays his head down on the keys, lets the tears come. There aren’t any cameras, no microphones, not in this little room, one of Snow’s private, personal retreats. There isn’t anyone around to see him cry.

Except for whoever it is that sits down beside him on the bench. A hand hesitantly rests on Finnick’s shoulder. “I’d ask if you’re okay, Finnick, but that’d be a pretty stupid question, wouldn’t it?” He hadn’t heard Haymitch come in, doesn’t know how he found him in the first place, but Finnick doesn’t try to stop crying. It’s not the first time Haymitch has quietly helped him through a bout with despair.

Talking into the piano keys, Finnick tells Haymitch what’s bothering him the most in this whole mess: “He wants to _breed_ us, Haymitch.”

It takes a minute before Haymitch asks, “What?” Finnick still doesn’t look up.

Hearing Snow’s voice in his head, he tells Haymitch, “Oh, he didn’t say it in so many words. You know how he is.” He changes his voice to match the cadence of the president’s. “’Your Annie seems to have recovered from her medical procedure. I’m so glad. You and she will no doubt have many more children together, all of them as beautiful as their parents.’” Feeling nauseous, a state his current folded position doesn’t help, Finnick straightens and Haymitch’s hand falls away. “He wants me to get Annie pregnant so that instead of killing our child, he can take it from us some other way. At the very least, force us to watch while he teaches him or her to be some good little Capitol drone.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Annie doesn’t know. And he doesn’t want me to tell her.” Snow ordered him not to tell her anything of their conversation, but how can he not? She deserves to know. And yet how can he tell her? It could destroy her. In spite of whatever she’s on tonight, she’s keeping it together better than Finnick. She wasn’t entirely here when Finnick first arrived, something he can partially blame the drugs for, but as soon as she knew Finnick was there, she focused. If he tells her Snow’s plans, how far into herself might she go this time? Without Finnick there to pull her back… Haymitch interrupts Finnick’s train of thought.

“How about we find a place we can talk?”

“We can talk here. No bugs.”

“You sure about that?” Finnick glances around the room, turns again toward Haymitch.

“Yeah, I’m sure. This is one of Snow’s private bolt holes. Dear _Cori_ doesn’t like being spied on.”

Haymitch snorts and turns around on the bench to lean back against the piano keys; the discordant sound makes Finnick wince.

“Lyme and I were talking earlier, while you and Annie were busy making everyone feel like graceless slobs,” Haymitch says, startling a laugh out of Finnick in spite of himself. He wipes at his wet eyes with the heels of his hands, grinding them into the sockets almost to the point of real discomfort in an effort to clear his mind as well as his vision.

When Haymitch doesn’t say anything else, Finnick looks at him. “You planning on telling me what about or do you just want congratulations on your daring act of rebellion?” Haymitch grins at him, looking relieved that Finnick is able to joke.

“We talked about those of us he let live. About how maybe that wasn’t his wisest course of action.” Finnick raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t otherwise interrupt. “Snow and his cronies in there all act like they’re dealing with not just a defeated enemy, but a destroyed one. Like we’re beat down so far we can’t even figure out which way is up. I don’t know about you, Finnick, but I don’t feel all that destroyed. I’m pretty sure, if push came to shove, I could still muster up a little fight.” Haymitch looks Finnick in the eyes. “How about you? You ready to roll over?”

Finnick returns Haymitch’s gaze, but all he sees is Annie and her too-bright eyes, dancing with a man old enough to be her father, maybe even her grandfather, and knowing that when she leaves here tonight, it will be with that man. He hears Snow’s sinuous voice as he wishes Finnick congratulations on his and Annie’s wedding, as if it wasn’t already abundantly clear that their marriage is not recognized here in the Capitol, expressing how sorry he is not to have wished them well before now and that he has high hopes for the beautiful children they’ll surely have. Incongruously, Finnick sees his uncle Rick, dead these past four months, hears Rick’s last words to President Snow just before they hanged him for his part in leading the uprising in District 4, defiant to the end: “You may have murdered me, but you can’t kill us all.”

Snow said a lot of things to Finnick in the gardens before his assistant called him away, something to do with a crisis on the main road through the northwest region of Panem, between Districts 9 and 7. Snow calculated most of what he said to Finnick to cause fear and self-doubt. Before he left Finnick standing alone in that courtyard, Snow told him that he was nowhere near finished punishing him, because Finnick’s was the greatest betrayal.

_“Are you serious? I betrayed you? I was a kid when you brought me here! I trusted you! I thought you were my friend, but you were just biding your time until you could sell me to the highest bidder!”_

_“You were like a son to me, Finnick. I do not take your disloyalty, either to myself or to Panem, lightly.”_

He had sounded so sincere. Finnick thought that somehow Snow truly believed what he said.

“No,” Finnick says in answer to Haymitch’s question. “No, I’m not ready to roll over. I’m not dead yet. And where there’s life, there’s hope.”

With a wolfish grin, Haymitch stands. Adjusting his trousers to hang more comfortably, he saunters out of the sitting room, whistling a simple four-note tune.

With a grin of his own, Finnick picks out the little tune on the piano. He hears Haymitch laugh as the door snicks shut.

xXx

Annie stares out the car’s tinted window at the city’s lights, rushing past too fast, leaving behind streaks of glowing pale pastel color. She thinks of her fellow victors, most of whom were still at President Snow’s party when she and Cornelius left a few minutes before: Haymitch off in a corner talking to Enobaria and Beetee, something they weren’t supposed to be doing; Lyme sipping a drink by herself; Peeta dancing with his “date.” Katniss was the only one who wasn’t there, having left with her own “date” over an hour ago.

Annie had run into Katniss after leaving Finnick and Snow in the courtyard. The younger woman was still upset and angry about something and when Annie asked, Katniss told her, _“He wants me and Peeta to have a baby together.”_ That’s what had Katniss so angry that she’d stormed out of the ballroom, taking some of her ire out on Max, simply because she couldn’t take it out on Snow. She’d asked Annie why Snow would want that, but Annie didn’t have any answers. In the back seat of the limousine, Annie crosses her arms over her stomach, remembering the child Snow took from her and Finnick.

Finnick was in a corner of the ballroom when she and Cornelius left. He was playing a guitar and surrounded by admirers, all of them surprised that he could play. She smiles to herself. He plays, he sings, but only those close to him ever knew that before tonight. Until tonight, he only played in the shadows, hidden away from the light because Snow knows the power music holds and he would never allow that kind of a weapon in Finnick’s hands.

But Max had called Snow away from the party and when the musicians took a break, Lyme had asked Finnick to play. Regina Blalock – her name finally forced on Annie, even though she had avoided it all evening – had been angry at that. Annie could see it in her eyes, the anger, the jealousy. No one had asked her, a woman whose livelihood was music, to play. Finnick had bowed to Lyme and smirked at Regina, deliberately goading her as he sat on a stool with one of the hired musicians’ guitars in his hands.

At first, he played something instrumental, a zambra, fast and furious, his fingers flying along the strings, but then he’d switched to one of his own songs, a song of love and of freedom. Listening to him sing, Annie knew it was a message to her, telling her that he wasn’t going to give up. But then she’d looked around the ballroom at the faces of their fellow victors, and she knew that it was just as much a message to them. And all of it seemed to go over the heads of the Capitol’s rich and powerful, listening to Finnick play and asking for more.

Cornelius nuzzles at Annie’s neck, caresses her ribs, his mouth and his hands nothing like Finnick’s. Alone in the car with this man – the driver doesn’t count, closed away in the front of the car where Annie can’t see her – it’s all too much. Annie closes her eyes and shuts Finnick and his light and his spark and his love safely away where what she does and what’s done to her won’t touch him. Finnick taught her that. She doesn’t think he knew that he was teaching her anything, he was just telling her how he kept himself even a little bit whole when he was in the Capitol, but she listened, and she learned from him all the same.


	3. A Family Affair

It’s the first time Finnick has been home since he was reaped for the Quarter Quell. Not that they actually let him go home…. No, Capitol forces destroyed the house he grew up in not long after the war began; it had been in the Odair family since before the Dark Days. They bombed the Odair property and the nearby town at about the same time that half his family disappeared. He still doesn’t know where his father, his brother and sister are. He doesn’t know if they’re alive and in hiding, still hunted by the Capitol, or if they’re long dead, lost when District 4 fell.

As for his mother, he had heard that she’s living with his brother’s wife in town, only about a half mile from the square, but even that was too far away for his keepers to allow. It was too far and not enough time, or so the guards told him. Instead, they rushed him from the hoverpad in the train station directly to the stage outside the Justice Building, barely in time for the reaping. Annie was already here when he arrived.

Looking at the town square, evidence of both wide-scale bombing and of rebuilding is everywhere. Shiny new structures in various stages of completion stand next to crumbling buildings stand next to piles of rubble stand next to craters in the roads, too many holes not yet filled. Beneath the ever-present scent of the sea is that of sawdust and paint and charred wood. Unlike the semi-permanent structure that stood near the Justice Building for seventy-five years, the stage on which he and Annie stand is new and not particularly well built. The Justice Building itself is half burned and broken, half shiny and new.

Even the representative from the Capitol is new. Finnick was shocked to learn that they executed Phineas LaSalle, the representative to District 4 for the last seventeen years, as a traitor. Phineas had helped a small group of rebels to escape a squad of Peacekeepers during that final failed assault on the Capitol. The handful of rebels made it away, but another, more loyal Capitol citizen saw everything, and when Peacekeepers picked up a group of refugees that included Phineas, unconnected to the escaped rebels, that other man had turned Phineas in. There was no trial, just a summary execution by the Peacekeepers who picked Phineas up in the first place. Snow seemed to take great pleasure in telling Finnick about it, as though it were yet more blood on Finnick’s already stained hands.

“Welcome, citizens of District Four.” The woman taking Phineas’ place is young, barely past reaping age herself. She looks like an ordinary young woman, if flamboyantly dressed in red and orange and flaming pink, and Finnick thinks she must not be able to afford any modifications. Not yet, anyway, and maybe not for a long time to come – it will be years before Panem recovers from the war, which means frivolous things like the Capitol’s penchant for body modification will cost a lot more than the average citizen can pay. No one ever got rich working as a district liaison for the Games.

“My name is Clarinda Pax, and I am your new representative for the Hunger Games. I feel I must warn you that things will be a bit different this year, due to the extraordinary circumstances surrounding these 76th Games. For a while, it appeared that the Games would be canceled for the first time in our history, but that did not happen and now they are upon us.” She smiles then, looking down at the kids assembled for the reaping. “Of course, that isn’t what’s so extraordinary.” She’s too close to the microphone for the last bit and the feedback is near deafening. Finnick isn’t the only one who winces at the sound.

Annie’s fingers find Finnick’s and tighten around them almost painfully. Finnick looks over at her, sees the fear in her eyes, feels it in the faint trembling of her hand. Not caring what any observers think, he raises their joined hands and kisses the back of hers. “It’ll be okay, Annie,” he whispers. “We’ll get through this.” She closes her eyes and the pressure on his hand lessens. She shifts her fingers, but when she starts to pull her hand from his, he twines his fingers with hers, not willing to let her go. They were too long apart; he needs the physical contact like he needs the air he breathes.

“By order of President Coriolanus Snow, this year’s District Four tributes to these 76th Hunger Games have been hand-picked by the president himself, based on the suggestions made by the president’s closest advisors.” She gestures with one gloved hand toward a young girl, standing at the back of the stage near the door into the Justice Building. The girl steps forward, carrying a silver tray. There is no reaping ball in sight and Finnick feels as though the floor of the stage just dropped out from under him and left him hanging from a noose around his neck. A murmur rises up from the crowd that packs the square.

“No,” Finnick whispers, choking on the word that never has done him any good. “Oh, no.”

Annie’s grip tightens again on his hand and Finnick searches the faces of his fellow citizens of District 4, easily finds his mother and sister-in-law in the throng. Annie has no family to speak of, only an on-again, off-again father she hasn’t heard from in years. But there are three Odairs of reaping age waiting in the holding pens below – one fourteen years old, one fifteen, and one seventeen. A fourth, eighteen and in her last year of eligibility, has been missing since the end of the war.

Finnick does his best to keep his sudden fear from showing on his face, but he’s pretty sure he fails miserably. He knew it would be bad, but he thought Snow would at least go through the motions of a normal reaping, however rigged it might actually be. He tears his gaze away from his mother to glance down at Annie, keeping his eyes fixed on her. If he looks away, he’ll fall.

Pax lifts a cream and blue envelope, so like the ones Finnick used to receive demanding his presence in the Capitol, from the tray. It takes her a second to open the envelope. “District Four’s female tribute to the 76th Hunger Games is Mairenn Odair.” Pax says Mairenn’s name with a verbal flourish and a wordless sound of pain tears free from Finnick. Annie steps closer to him, bringing her body flush with his, trying to lend him her strength. She doesn’t let go of his hand. “Mairenn Odair, please come forward,” Clarinda Pax says into the microphone, a plastic smile stretching her red lips.

Back straight, her head held high, a thick bronze braid trailing over her right shoulder, Finnick’s niece separates resolutely from the group of fifteen-year-old girls to the front left of the stage. A Peacekeeper joins her and escorts her up the stairs to stand beside Finnick, who takes Mairenn’s right hand in his left, hoping his hand isn’t as clammy as he fears it to be.

Finnick tries to loosen his grip on Annie’s hand, but again, it’s something he just can’t do. He turns his head toward his wife, looks past her and out over the crowd at the boys’ pens where Mairenn’s brother Xalvador and her cousin Rhys stand. He’s sick at the knowledge of what’s coming. How many times over the years has Snow made veiled threats of just such a thing happening? And that was before Finnick openly, publicly rebelled.

“The male tribute for District Four to the 76th Hunger Games is…” Pax takes longer to open the second envelope, apparently having trouble breaking the seal. She takes so long, Finnick almost reaches over to tear the thing from her hand and open it himself, but he doesn’t need to see the words printed on the card.

“Rhys Conmara,” he whispers in unison with Pax, his gaze locked on the nephew everyone remarks looks just like Finnick did at that age. Finnick’s knees buckle and he’s glad he didn’t try to take the envelope from Pax, because it’s only Annie who, clinging painfully to his hand, props him up for the seconds he needs to get himself under control. “Please join us on stage, Mr. Conmara.”

Pax beckons with one graceful hand toward the boys’ pens and Rhys breaks away from his friends in the fourteens, much as Finnick had eleven years ago. Finnick experiences a weird sense of vertigo as he watches Rhys while his memory gives him a replay of his own first reaping. He knows exactly what’s going through Rhys’ mind as the boy looks back at his best friend before shaking himself and stepping toward his waiting Peacekeeper escort.

A low growl spreads through the square like a wave as Rhys joins Finnick and Annie and Mairenn on the stage. Finnick stays upright and relatively steady as Annie takes Rhys’ hand with her free one so that all four Odairs stand in a chain, supporting each other. Finnick recalls another unbroken chain of support, a lifetime ago, it seems now. Out of the fifty-nine victors still alive at the last reaping, just a year ago, only eight survived the arena and the war.

Finnick’s head is spinning with the shock of what just happened when a pair of voices breaks free from the wave of sound created by hundreds of others raised in protest. Not quite in unison, a female and then a half beat later a male voice both shout out, “I volunteer!” A girl and boy, trained and ready for the Games as Mairenn and Rhys are not, step forward from the eighteens and sudden, irrational hope surges through Finnick. He quickly chokes the life out of that hope: if Snow hand-picked Mairenn and Rhys, he won’t allow anyone else to take their places.

“So eager!” Pax gushes, smiling hugely. “But I am so sorry. There is no option to accept volunteers this year.” She glances at Annie, then at Finnick and her smile fades. “Perhaps next year.” Whatever she sees in his face, she takes an involuntary step back, raising a hand to her throat. She coughs delicately into her hand to try to cover up her reaction and then turns to first Mairenn and then Rhys.

“Well, Miss Odair. Mr. Conmara. Congratu…” Clarinda Pax’s voice trails off when she gets a good look at the District 4 tributes standing with their mentors, with their male mentor in particular, and sees three pairs of almost identical sea-green eyes beneath sun-streaked bronze hair. “Why, are you an Odair also, Mr. Conmara?”

Rhys stares at Pax, his eyes wide, not quite as steady as he seemed a moment ago when he joined them on the stage. He opens his mouth to answer her, but nothing comes out and Finnick is pretty sure the shock of reaping is already catching up to the boy.

“He’s my nephew, Miss Pax.” Clarinda blinks several times rapidly, clearly surprised, and beside Finnick, Annie starts to laugh, a hysterical edge to the sound. Pax stares at her nervously, and when no one else reacts, she takes a half step away from Annie.

“And Miss Odair is related to you also.” Pax’s words are not quite a question.

“My niece.” Finnick’s voice is bleak.

“Oh, that _is_ bad luck!” Finnick bites back the hysterical laughter of his own that threatens to break free. _Bad luck?_

“Luck has nothing to do with this,” Finnick tells Pax. Bile rises in his throat, sudden and acid hot. “Excuse me.” He jerks away from Annie and Mairenn and he barely has time to run for the back of the stage before vomiting helplessly over the edge to the dirt below.

xXx

Annie is only a few steps behind Finnick when he reaches the edge of the stage and falls to his knees. She holds him as he loses his breakfast over the side, laying her head on his shoulders and stroking his back almost compulsively. _Oh, no, not Rhys and Mairenn. Please, no. This can’t be happening._ The thoughts jumble together in her head and she wants to ask Finnick if it’s true, if it’s real.

He always tells her when she asks him if something is real or not. As the years took them further from the arena, she had to ask less frequently, but then they circled around, like water down a drain, and the arena is once more as close to them both as it has ever been. Looking at Finnick now, his face pale beneath the tan, the darkness shadowing his eyes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, Annie knows it’s real. If it weren’t real, she wouldn’t be holding him now as he shakes with the aftermath of being violently sick.

Behind them, Clarinda Pax says something to appease the crowd, but her words make no sense to Annie. There _is_ no sense in the words Pax tosses at the people of District 4. Peacekeepers take Rhys and Mairenn from the stage into the Justice Building, to their respective waiting rooms to say their goodbyes to family and friends. Nothing makes any sense.

A pair of polished black boots stops within Annie’s line of sight. Fingers close around her right arm, just above her elbow, and lift her to her feet. Off balance, she stumbles as another Peacekeeper pulls Finnick up. Her husband straightens and wrenches his arm from the man’s grasp, takes a step toward Annie.

“Let her go.” It’s not a request. There is violence in Finnick’s eyes along with the fear. Fear for her. Fear for his niece and nephew. Fear for himself. The Peacekeeper Finnick pulled away from raises his rifle and aims it at Finnick’s back even as the one who holds Annie’s arm releases her. She runs the few steps to Finnick. He puts his arm around her and pulls her in close, allows the Peacekeepers to lead them into the Justice Building.

The Peacekeepers take Annie and Finnick to an interior room to wait. Finnick is on edge. Angry and frightened, unable to relax, he stalks across the center of the room, back and forth, from one corner to its opposite.

“Sit down, Odair,” one of the Peacekeepers orders.

“Fuck you.” Finnick doesn’t stop pacing, doesn’t even slow down.

Annie can’t stop shaking. It’s a hot summer day and there is no air conditioning in the partially rebuilt Justice Building, nor would there be enough electricity to run it if there were, but Annie is cold. She drops down into the room’s only chair and pulls her legs up under her, wraps her arms around herself. Her gaze drifts to a bright spot of light on the wall to the left of where Finnick paces, a reflection from the overhead lights that shimmers like water. She stares at it until it fills her vision and she sinks into it. The room around her fades away.

“Annie.” Finnick’s voice, outwardly calm, but with a thread of panic worked in black and red. She blinks. Focuses. Finnick stands in the center of the room, his body rigid, his hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles white. Her eyes meet his and she watches as a tide of relief floods through him. She offers him a tentative smile and a he takes a deep, shuddering breath. He closes his eyes and sways and then begins again to pace.

She doesn’t know how long she was gone. Annie watches as Finnick paces and the guards watch them both. No one says anything. Time crawls. There is no clock in the room, no windows, no way to judge how much time passes, and so Annie begins to count. When she reaches 953, she raises her knees, circles them with her arms, and hides her face. She hears Finnick falter when he draws near, but she doesn’t look up. He brushes his fingers across her arm and she twists her wrist so that she can catch at his fingers with hers. She doesn’t open her eyes or raise her head, but she stays with him and he continues pacing.

There are voices on the other side of the door when Annie reaches 4,006. A man and two women, but she can’t make out their words. The voices fade with distance as they walk past. It’s been more than an hour, even if Annie assumes that she counted faster than one number per second – she’s never been good with time, and, too, she drifted for a bit. At her reaping, she was allowed one hour to say her goodbyes and she hadn’t needed that much, since her Gran was the only one who came. Annie begins to rock.

Clarinda Pax opens the door at 4,276 and for a moment, everything stops. Finnick stops pacing. Annie stops rocking and looks up, blinking hard at the brightness of the lights after hiding her eyes away for so long. The Peacekeepers stop watching Annie and Finnick and turn toward the door, rifles half raised.

Clarinda steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

“It’s almost time to leave for the train station,” she announces brightly, but her smile is forced and Annie doesn’t think that has anything to do with the Peacekeepers’ rifles. “I had no idea there were so many Odairs!” She looks at Annie. “I think you must be the only one in District Four who isn’t related somehow, Miss Cresta.”

Annie blinks again. Finnick drops to the floor where he stands, folding his long body down until he can cover his head with his hands. They all stare at him: Annie, Clarinda, their matched set of Peacekeeper guards. He starts to shake and it occurs to Annie that he’s laughing. Clarinda gapes at him, then closes her mouth with an audible snap. She looks at Annie and frowns.

Annie pushes her face back into the cover of her arms and says to the floor between her feet, past the edge of the chair seat, “Finnick is my husband. I’m an Odair, too.”

There’s a long pause before Clarinda breathes, “Oh.” Annie can feel her staring at her.

Someone knocks at the door, two quick raps, then a gruff male voice says, “It’s time.” Annie looks up.

Clapping her hands together, Clarinda turns toward the door. “Come along, then, Mr. and Mrs. Odair. Let’s collect your kids for their big trip to the Capitol.” Annie gasps and her gaze flies to Finnick.

“They have names, Miss Pax,” Finnick points out to her. “Mairenn and Rhys. And this isn’t some pleasure cruise to the Capitol.” He pushes past her and reaches out a hand to Annie; she takes his hand and stands, swaying for a moment as the circulation returns to her legs.

“Mr. Odair,” Clarinda begins as one Peacekeeper guard steps out into the hall to wait, but Finnick cuts her off with a single word.

“Don’t.” Their arms around each other’s waists, Annie and Finnick walk through the door, held open by their other guard, leaving Clarinda to follow.

At the end of the hallway, where it intersects with another, a woman stops and leans against the wall as though she can’t take another step. A young man hurries to her side and she turns to lean on him instead.

“Mara.” Finnick’s voice carries. His sister-in-law looks up, her face streaked with tears. Finnick’s mother is with her; the young man is her son. Xalvador Odair is two years older than his sister and, at seventeen, far better suited to the arena in both size and training than either Mairenn or Rhys.

“Finnick.” The voice belongs to his mother, but Finnick answers to Mara as though she were the one who spoke.

“Mara, I am so sorry.” When they draw nearer, Finnick slows and one of their guards pushes him forward.

“No stopping.” Annie tightens her arm around Finnick’s waist and they walk past his family. Jenna reaches out and catches her son’s hand in passing, the touch all too brief.

“It’s not your fault, Uncle Finnick.” Xal’s eyes are red and swollen, his voice rough.

Finnick straightens his shoulders, loses some of the desperation, able to take strength from the short meeting. And then they’re past, Finnick’s family behind them with Clarinda Pax as a barrier to further communication. At the end of the hallway, sunlight streams in through a window in the door. One of their guards opens the door and Finnick and Annie cross into bright noonday sun and walk with their heads held high to the waiting car.

xXx

The train hurtles along on its tracks, whisking them all away to the Capitol, a place none of them wants to be. Except for Miss Clarinda Pax. She bubbles about the dining car, trying to engage Annie or Mairenn or Rhys in conversation, having given up on Finnick hours ago. He is not ungrateful for that fact.

He’s brooding. He knows he’s brooding, but that doesn’t make it any easier to pull out of it. He looks over at Annie, curled up next to a window, a blanket pulled from their sleeping car wrapped around her. She leans her head against the glass, intently watching the scenery fly by. As though she can feel his gaze, she looks over at him and smiles, the expression real if a bit sad. “I love you,” he mouths and her smile widens. Something on the other side of the glass catches her attention again and she returns to watching out the window, but the smile remains.

Pax laughs at something Rhys says and it strikes Finnick again how young Clarinda Pax really is. Annie asked her on the way to the train station: she’s nineteen and specialized in public relations at school. She was an intern with District 8 during both the 74th Games and the Quarter Quell and received a promotion almost by default when the decision came down to hold the 76th Hunger Games. Those trained in PR and experienced in the Games drew lots to determine which district they’d represent.

Finnick pushes away from the table and walks over to join his wife. She makes room for him and he slides in beside her, laying an arm across her shoulders. “You okay?” he asks and she nods, looking up at him.

“I’m fine, Finnick. It’s Mairenn and Rhys I’m worried about.” She goes back to looking out the window, where the sun is just dipping below the horizon. “And you.”

“Don’t worry about me, love.” He kisses her head; the ends of her short hair – still startling to him – tickle his lips and nose. “Why’d they cut your hair?” He shifts the arm across her shoulders until he can run the fingers of that hand through the silky strands.

Still looking out the window, Annie says, “ _They_ didn’t. I did.” His fingers still. “After the first client, I cut it with a knife.” She smiles. “They thought I was trying to kill myself.” She reaches up and touches the glass with the tips of her fingers. Finnick follows the motion and sees his face growing clearer in the darkening glass; her fingers rest on his reflected lips. “I didn’t want _them_ to share something you loved.” His reflection blurs. “I couldn’t stop them from taking our baby or taking you, but I could stop them from that.” Finnick closes suddenly swimming eyes, tightens his hold on her. He can’t speak, but that’s okay; there’s really nothing to say to that.

Clarinda’s laughter cuts through his tears. “Oh, Rhys, is that true? Mr. Odair, do you really…?” He doesn’t know what Rhys told her and doesn’t much care. “Oh, you should play for us!” He buries his face in Annie’s neck. The woman must be referring to the piano at the end of the dining car, another reminder of Capitol excess.

“You should just die,” he says against Annie’s skin, realizing a moment too late how loud the words are. He doesn’t really mean them, but he can’t take them back. Clarinda gasps and the only sound that remains is the metallic clashing of the train on its tracks. “Shit,” he whispers and only he and Annie can hear that.

Finnick expects the girl to leave the car in a huff, but she surprises him. Instead, her voice strained, she asks, “Why are you so hostile to me, Mr. Odair? What have I ever done to you?”

Finnick doesn’t answer her right away. Given the events of the day and what Annie just told him, he’s close to the edge. He wants to choose his words carefully, regrets what he already said to her and how badly he’s fucking things up with Rhys and Mairenn; there’s no reason to instill any more fear in them than he and the reaping already have. So instead of answering Pax, he pushes a little away from Annie, shifts, and looks over at Mairenn and Rhys. “Why don’t you two go explore the train? There’re all sorts of interesting things to check out.”

He has a quick flash of memory, of running through the train with his district partner, exclaiming to each other about the chandeliers and the carpets and all the food laid out in the dining car and the controls in their compartments for lighting and temperature and scent and music. Jackson Hull had shouted at them to settle down and show a little dignity. Mags had shouted at Jack to shut up and let them act like the kids they were.

Rhys starts to protest leaving, but Mairenn says, “Come on, Rhys. They want to talk about adult stuff,” and Finnick feels his heart break all over again, thinking about how young they both are, about how, regardless of what happens in the arena, they’ll never be young again.

“If we’re old enough to go the arena, Uncle Finnick,” Rhys says, “we’re old enough to hear what you have to say.”

“That’s true, Rhys, but maybe I’m not old enough to be able to say it in front of you.” Annie’s hand finds his as Rhys goes pale. Rhys lets his cousin lead him out of the dining car and Finnick turns to a very interested Clarinda Pax, whose eyes dart back and forth between Finnick and Annie. Annie squeezes Finnick’s hand just before he pulls it from hers when he stands.

He walks over to the sideboard, grabs a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He needs something stronger than the wine they had with dinner to answer the Capitol girl’s questions. After he downs what amounts to a couple of shots, he leans back against the sideboard, facing both Clarinda and Annie. The sky outside the window is dark and all he can see in it now is the reflection of the dining car and its occupants.

“You want to know why I’m so hostile. What you’ve done to deserve it?” Clarinda looks like she’s beginning to regret asking the question in the first place. “That’s my niece and nephew out there,” he gestures with his refilled glass toward the door that leads from the dining car, “and this morning you delivered at least one of them a death sentence. Rhys is fourteen years old. Mairenn fifteen. Neither of them has even had a chance to live yet, and you’ve just told them that not only will they likely die horribly in just a few days, but they might have to murder other human beings in the process.”

“I didn’t pass sentence on anyone!” Clarinda protests, looking horrified. Finnick starts to respond to that, but Annie interrupts, her voice steady and implacable.

“No, Miss Pax, you didn’t. But you opened those envelopes and you read their names. You delivered the sentence President Snow passed, punishing a pair of children for crimes they had nothing to do with.” She clasps her hands together and her knuckles are as white as the bones beneath her skin; Finnick can see that in spite of the calmness of the words, Annie is shaking.

He pushes away from the sideboard and crosses to his wife, offers her a drink from his glass. She looks up at him and shakes her head; he shrugs in response, feeling as though they held an entire conversation without uttering a word. He didn’t expect her to drink, but then he would not have expected the drugs a week ago, either.

Clarinda doesn’t look happy, but she also doesn’t seem convinced and Finnick is done with trying. He hopes she’s young enough for them to make some kind of impression on her, but maybe he’s wrong. He tosses back the rest of his whiskey and sets the glass down on a nearby table, then holds his hand out to Annie.

They leave Clarinda alone in the dining car. When Finnick opens the door, he and Annie all but trip over Mairenn and Rhys. It’s clear on their faces that they heard every word. Finnick doesn’t notice how much his grip tightens on Annie’s hand until she makes a pained sound; he abruptly releases her and steps silently past his niece and nephew. Annie’s quiet voice follows him as Finnick heads to their sleeping compartment. He doesn’t hear what she says, but whatever it is, he’s certain it’s more reassuring than anything _he’s_ said in the past half hour or so.

xXx

When Annie slips into the sleeping car she shares with Finnick, she finds him stretched out on the bed with one arm covering his eyes. He’s naked and the air in the small room is humid and smells faintly of honeysuckle and she thinks he must have taken a shower. There’s a golden glow over the room from ropes of light that run along the joining of wall and ceiling. She closes the door and leans back against it and drinks in the sight of him.

She’d stayed behind when Mairenn caught the hand Finnick had released as Annie and he came out of the dining car. The girl was clearly frightened, as was Rhys. Mairenn had pulled Annie back into the dining car. Clarinda, still sitting where Annie and Finnick left her, looked up when the three of them entered, but didn’t greet them, didn’t try to engage them in conversation. Neither did she leave.

Mairenn sat in a chair by the piano and bit her lower lip, wrapped her arms around her torso, while Rhys sat on the piano bench. Annie remained standing and waited. It took her a few seconds, but Mairenn finally looked up. “Annie, do you have nightmares like Uncle Finnick does?” That was not a question Annie had anticipated.

“Yes, Mairenn, I do.” The girl looked at Annie expectantly, waiting for something more. “Almost every night.”

“The Games did that. The nightmares, I mean.”

“Yes.” Mairenn looked miserable as she chewed on her lip again. “What are you looking for, Mair?”

“How many people did you kill?” She wouldn’t look at Annie.

“Oh, Mairenn…” Annie glanced at Clarinda; the woman traced patterns on the table with her fingertip, condensation from her water glass the paint. “Two. I killed two.” Annie doesn’t remember their names, but she remembers their faces. She will never forget their faces.

“And Uncle Finnick? How many did he kill?”

“Between both his Games, I think eight.” A set of discordant notes sounded from the piano and made everyone jump.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Rhys pulled his hands away from the keys and sat on them. When Annie looked back at Mairenn, the girl was shaking.

“I can’t do it, Annie,” she whispered. “I can’t do it.”

“You’d be surprised at what you can do when you have no choice, Mair,” Annie told her, feeling cold again herself. She’d laid the blanket she still carried around Mairenn’s narrow shoulders then and kissed her on the forehead. “Try to get some sleep, okay?” When Mairenn nodded, Annie looked over at Rhys, still sitting on his hands, staring at his cousin. “You, too, Rhys.”

“Are you just going to stand there or are you coming to bed?” Finnick asks her without moving his arm. Pulled back into the present, Annie smiles.

“How do you know it’s me?”

“Who else would you be?” He still doesn’t move his arm, but she can see the slight smile on his lips. She turns the lock on the door. They’re on a train: neither the door nor the lock is all that sturdy, but it will at least slow down anyone who tries to open it.

“I could be Rhys…”

“Too old.”

“I could be Mairenn…”

“Too tall.”

“You can’t see how tall I am,” Annie protests.

“No, but you sound tall. Your voice is really high.” Annie fights off a giggle.

“I could be Clarinda…” Finnick snorts.

“Too scared of me.”

“I could be an Avox…?” He finally uncovers his eyes, rolling to his side and propping his head on one hand to face her.

“You talk too much.” Annie takes the three steps from the door to the bed. As soon as she’s close enough, Finnick reaches out and pulls her close, his arm around the tops of her thighs.

Threading her fingers through his hair, she asks, “Did you shower?”

“Mm hmm,” he murmurs against her, the vibration of his voice sending lightning through her body. “Should I have waited?” He starts to hike up her skirt; Annie starts to hum and he smiles, nips at the thin fabric covering her hip, pulling it away from her skin with his teeth. “Not only do you talk too much, but you’re wearing too many clothes.”

It’s as if his words throw a switch and suddenly they can’t keep their hands off each other. Finnick helps Annie out of her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and pulls her down on the bed, rolling her naked body under his, kissing her like he’ll die if he stops. They make love almost desperately, as though Snow or someone else might take it away from them at any minute. In his arms with him inside her, it feels like home and it doesn’t matter that they’re on a train bound for the Capitol and the Hunger Games, at least for a little while.

Annie’s release breaks over her like a wave. Finnick pulls back and it feels like he’s trying to pull out of her, like he’s trying to stop his own release, but she doesn’t let him. He’s close, she can feel it; she arches her back to take him in deeper, the sensation of his bare chest against her hard nipples makes her moan deep in her throat. Finnick stiffens and spills inside her, collapses over her, holding just enough of his weight on his arms that she can breathe without a struggle. He drops his head down to rest on the pillow beside her ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers over and over against her skin, punctuated with tiny kisses every few repetitions. She strokes his hair, his shoulders, down his back.

“Finnick, what’s wrong?” He doesn’t answer, just keeps apologizing until finally she forces his head up, forces him to look at her and what she sees in his eyes scares her. “Finnick, please,” is all she says, but that finally breaks through whatever loop is playing in his head.

He rolls off her and pulls her in close to his side, threads the fingers of one hand with hers, their joined hands resting on his stomach. She knows he’s delaying, that whatever is bothering him, he doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t think it’s Rhys and Mairenn, because he already voiced his fears regarding them, but beyond that, Annie is mystified.

“Snow wants you pregnant,” he states baldly. Annie tightens her fingers around his and frowns. “He wants us to have another child, to have more than just one. He wants to use them against us, take them away, one after the other. He doesn’t want to kill them this time, but to make them grow up as model Capitol citizens. Teach them to hate us.”

“So the shot Melissa gave me this morning wasn’t to keep me sterile,” she says.

“No, more like the opposite. Annie, I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t say anything, just holds him a little tighter and pushes her face into his shoulder and chest. She hears Katniss’ voice a week ago, angry and miserable – _“He wants me and Peeta to have a baby together.”_ – and Annie wonders what game Snow is playing at now. It was no accident that he said these things to Finnick and Katniss, not Annie or Peeta, and it makes her wonder, too, what Snow is using to mess with the other victors’ heads.

As Annie is finally dropping off to sleep, lulled by the sound and motion of the train, the warmth of Finnick’s body against hers, she jerks awake again.

“Annie? What is it?”

“He doesn’t want our children at all, Finnick,” she tells him. She had thought about what he said from every angle she could think of and could in no way make that make sense. But taken in conjunction with what Katniss told her and given what she knows of Coriolanus Snow…. “Don’t you see, love? What he wants is to drive a wedge between us. He wants to take us away from each other, and he’s doing that by making us do it to ourselves.”

Finnick is silent for so long that she thinks he must have fallen asleep, but then he says, “Maybe. Maybe you’re right about him trying to drive a wedge between us. It’s the sort of thing he’d do. But that doesn’t mean he won’t use any children we might have against us.”

Annie is right about this. She knows she is. But so is Finnick.

Sleep is a long time coming.


	4. Let the Games Begin

_“…thirteen...”_

There are no victors in the victors’ lounge.

_“…twelve…”_

All eight of those victors who yet live are in the control room, watching their monitors – audio/visual feeds, tribute vital signs – and waiting for the opening gong. Finnick is as tense and nervous as the tributes waiting on their platforms, and he knows that the others in the control room feel the same way.

_“…eleven…”_

There are only three districts with a full complement of native mentors: 2, 4, and 12. All but one of the districts has two mentors each, but in most cases, those mentors were appointed by the Games Commission.

_“…ten…”_

District 2 has Lyme and Enobaria. They sit side by side, both of them calm. They’ve been here before. They know what they’re doing, and while neither of their tributes is a volunteer – for the first time in twenty years, District 2 has to live with the luck of the reaping ball – both tributes are trained, even if that training is incomplete. _At least they’re both over fifteen_ , Finnick thinks.

_“…nine…”_

District 3’s mentors are Beetee and a young woman from the district who washed out of the Gamemaker training program. Only a few district citizens are ever accepted to the program and it’s very rare that any of those accepted fail. That was six years ago. No one ever explained to her why she was dismissed. Wiress’ only grandchild, Farad, is Beetee’s tribute. The female tribute’s name was pulled from the reaping ball, since Beetee has no family of his own.

_“…eight…”_

Katniss and Peeta sit side by side at the District 12 control console. They are outwardly calm. Neither of them has ever been in this position before and their tributes, like those for District 4, were hand-picked by President Snow: Vick Hawthorne, twelve years old, selected because Katniss has no surviving family of her own to put into the arena, but her best friend has siblings to make up for her lack, and Delly Cartwright, eighteen for a few more weeks, just like her mentor, chosen because she is Peeta’s close friend. Finnick remembers her from District 13. A sweet girl, at least for now.

_“…seven…”_

Haymitch stands alone as mentor for District 11, appointed to that position by President Snow until such time as 11 produces a victor of its own who can take over. He has no mentoring partner: Snow told Haymitch during a brief meeting with all the mentors that, since he has gone it alone for so many years, Snow saw no reason to change that now. Chaff’s youngest daughter, Kale, and one of Seeder’s grandsons, Braeburn, are Haymitch’s tributes. Like their mentor, they were both hand-picked.

_“…six…”_

Finnick turns his head to the right, toward his own partner. Whenever he mentored in the past, it was always either Angel Banyan or Mags beside him. Seeing Annie in that chair, wearing a headset over her still startlingly short hair, a complex wave of emotions engulfs him: love, longing, pride, comfort, fear, amazement, and so many more, some of them he can’t even name. Annie’s eyes meet his and she reaches for his hand, both offering and seeking strength.

_“…five…”_

A tone sounds from the headset Finnick wears indicating a greater-than-normal change in his tribute’s vital signs and he looks away from Annie to the screen inlaid on his console. Mairenn’s heart rate more closely resembles that of a rabbit than a teenage girl. He glances upward, finds her by the reddish glow of her hair against the bright white of the uniform the Gamemakers put the kids in this year. Her eyes are closed and her fists clenched tight, tension defining every line of her body. Just past Finnick’s niece, the boy from District 5 begins to bounce on the balls of his feet.

_“…four…”_

By contrast, Rhys stands straight and steady on his plate. Finnick can see that the boy’s eyes are trained on the Cornucopia. His lips move as he counts down the seconds to the gong in unison with Claudius Templesmith’s steady voice. It isn’t usually Templesmith and Finnick wonders idly why the change.

_“…three…”_

The boy from 5, still bouncing with nervous energy from foot to foot, stumbles. He nearly falls, but manages to regain his footing, avoiding an explosive disaster.

_“…two…”_

Finnick resists the urge to switch to the bird’s eye view of the arena that the rest of Panem sees. He knows it’s only cowardice on his part, not wanting to see it in close up if either Mair or Rhys should fall in the inevitable bloodbath. He contents himself with studying the area surrounding them – the tributes are arranged in district number order this year, female then male – dark, rich soil showing through brilliant green grass, tall wildflowers swaying in a light breeze, the shimmer-shine of a stream flowing in the distance. All of it is far too innocent to be believable and he hopes that Rhys and Mairenn remember what he and Annie tried to teach them about survival.

_“…one…”_

Almost as one, the tributes change their stance. Some, like Rhys, crouch a little, readying themselves to sprint for the Cornucopia for whatever bounty they might find. Others, like Mairenn, orient themselves in a subtly different manner, ready to dash in the opposite direction. Finnick had wanted to tell them both to head away from the Cornucopia as far and as fast as they could, but he didn’t. Annie, playing to Rhys’ strengths, advised him to get what he could from the horn and get out. She always sees things others don’t and Finnick won’t start doubting her intuition now. His niece and nephew will do their best to meet up with each other before the day is out. If they both live. Finnick’s grip tightens almost convulsively around Annie’s hand.

_“Ladies and gentlemen, let the 76th Annual Hunger Games begin!”_

xXx

Two days into the Games, Annie’s gaze is glued to her monitor. Her headset lies on the floor of the control room where she threw it. Her hands cover her mouth in a vain attempt to hold in the choking sobs that wrack her body. A soothing hand rubs at her shoulders, but neither who it is nor even the fact of it penetrates the bloody haze in which she exists.

Rhys lies on the unyielding, rocky ground, his hands at his throat, trying to hold in the flow of blood from the ugly crimson line drawn there by the boy from District 7. That boy lies lifeless on the ground, the side of his head caved in. Mairenn drops the gore-spattered rock; it silently hits another rock and rolls at an angle down the hillside. She runs to Rhys and drops to her knees beside him.

Superimposed on the awful scene is another that Annie relives on an almost nightly basis in her nightmares: the hunting knife falling endlessly from her own suddenly nerveless fingers, covered in red, as the girl from 2 chokes to death on her own blood, finally falling dead beside Erik’s head. Erik’s headless, near bloodless body lies several feet away.

Annie hears voices, but doesn’t know what they say. Her headset appears on the console in front of her and she jumps. She doesn’t know how it got there. Everything is still stained red and she can’t escape the rusty stench of blood. Her gorge rises and she sucks in a deep breath, but that only makes it worse. She pushes back hard from the console, runs into a solid wall of flesh and with a cry dashes for the door. A distant part of her brain makes a connection between her name and the voice of the man who calls it after her: Finnick. She doesn’t stop.

As soon as she hits the bathroom down the hallway from the control room, Annie loses her lunch into the sink. All she can think is _please don’t let me get it in my hair._

_…blood in her hair…_

_…blood in Mairenn’s hair…_

_…Erik lying dead in pieces on the ground…_

_…Rhys lying dead on the ground…_

“Annie!”

_…Finnick lying dead on the ground…_

She retches into the sink again, barely holding herself upright on her elbows, her knees having long since buckled. She feels something tear loose inside her even as Finnick’s strong hands lift her up. He holds her steady, smoothes his hands over her hair.

“Is it in my hair? Did I get it in my hair?” _Is Rhys dead? Is Mairenn as crazy as I am?_ The words she wants to say won’t come out right. Finnick pulls her back against his chest and she turns around in his arms, pushes her face into the fabric of his shirt and breathes in the scent of him. There’s nothing of blood or fear in his arms.

“Hush, baby,” he murmurs into her hair. “Hush. Rhys is alive.” She pushes against him.

“Erik?” He holds his breath and she knows there’s something wrong. “Finnick?”

“Erik died six years ago, Annie.” Finnick’s voice is very controlled. “I know you remember.” She rubs her cheek against his arm.

“I don’t want to remember.” He kisses her hair.

“I know you don’t, love.” Annie blinks and it all rushes back. The smell of vomit replaces the stench of blood.

“Rhys is alive?” Bronze hair. Green eyes. Ready laugh. Rhys would do anything for Annie. Just like his uncle. “Rhys…” she whispers and then pushes back just enough to look up at her husband. “And Mairenn? Is she okay?” Finnick looks away from her.

“She will be.” Annie frowns at him.

“You’re not wearing your headset.”

“Peeta came downstairs to get me. I was asleep.” Her frown deepens as she looks at their reflection in the bathroom mirror. She doesn’t quite remember how they got here. It’s been years since that happened.

“We shouldn’t be away from them.” She remembers then: Finnick had gone to the sleeping room off of the victors’ lounge. It was Annie’s turn to watch over Rhys and Mairenn.

“Peeta’s watching them for us, love.” Not taking his arms from around her, Finnick reaches behind Annie and turns on the water, rinsing the sick out of the sink. She lets him take care of her then, filling a glass with water to rinse her mouth, wetting a cloth to wipe her face and a spot on her shirt. She jumps when his hand brushes against her breast. “Sorry,” he whispers, but she’s not entirely convinced, even though she’s sure the touch was an accident.

Annie catches his hand in hers. “I’m okay now, Finnick,” she half lies. Like Mairenn, she’s not okay, but she will be. She kisses his palm and gives him a slight shove toward the door. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” Rather than teasing her, which is what he normally would do, he simply nods and leaves. She wonders if she should worry.

When she sees the blood staining her underwear as she uses the toilet – it isn’t time for her cycle – Annie almost wishes he’d stayed.

xXx

It’s a week into the Games when the mentors find out what it is that replaced the Cornucopia, which disappeared sometime during the first night. Because of its disappearance, unlike in other Games, the tributes can’t return to the golden horn to fight or to hide or to camp or to replenish supplies. In its place is… nothing. Literally nothing, in the shape of a sphere maybe sixty feet in diameter, half of which seems to be underground. One of the appointed mentors, Finnick can’t remember which one, says that it looked, from a close up of the main Games feed, like there is a six-inch gap between the sphere and the ground, that the gap has perfectly smooth lines, no matter which quadrant the sphere touches. Or doesn’t touch, as the case may be.

There is no apparent surface to the sphere. Light doesn’t penetrate it, either going in or leaking out. The creatures in the arena all avoid it – both the obvious muttations like the dragon-like thing that lives in the desert quadrant and the more mundane birds and insects. Beetee says it doesn’t obey the laws of physics. Not even he knows what it is, so the rest of them have no hope of figuring it out. None of the tributes tests it.

None test it, that is, until the day the girl from District 7, who reminds Finnick painfully of Johanna, lost when District 13 fell, chases the boy from 8 into that sphere. It swallows him up without even a ripple. One moment he’s there, the next he’s gone. The only sign that anything happened is the cannon that fires almost immediately. The girl skids to a stop, eyes wide and arms pinwheeling to keep from tumbling headlong into the nothingness right after the boy.

When the dead boy’s mentor returns from the morgue in shock, saying that there was no body for him to return to his district, they start calling that sphere “the void.”

xXx

Eight days into the Games, Vick Hawthorne of District 12 accidentally kills his ally, Braeburn of District 11. It happens after a single, innocuous gust of wind causes movement where no movement was expected and Vick lets fly a stone from his slingshot. Gathering nuts on his hands and knees, the stone hits Brae in the head, killing him almost instantly.

Ten days in, a quadrant-wide sandstorm drives Mairenn and Rhys apart. When it’s over and the dust settles, Mairenn is at the mouth of a canyon formed by a dry-as-dust riverbed. Delly Cartwright is backed into a rocky space at the other end, harried by both tributes from District 9. Delly is unarmed. So is Mairenn. But Mairenn picks up the largest rock she can find, rocks seemingly having become her weapon of choice, and rushes the girl from 9. The ensuing fight is ugly, the deaths of the tributes from 9 very hands-on for both Mairenn and Delly. Once the bodies are removed, the exhausted girls make camp toward the mouth of the canyon and huddle together for warmth as they sleep. They don’t bother keeping watch.

Early in the morning of day eleven, an earthquake violently shakes the canyon and water gushes up from the ground, flooding it. Mairenn and Delly cling to each other as they’re swept along. It’s only blind luck or Gamemaker interference that keeps them both from being dashed on the rocks or drowned in the roiling water. In the control room, it’s apparent that the quake is confined only to the quadrant the canyon is a part of, reminding Annie both of the flooded arena of her own Games – this time at the reminder, she doesn’t break down – and also of Finnick’s most recent Games and the barriers that confined certain attacks so that only one section was affected by the Gamemakers’ little toys.

The earthquake and flood reunite Mairenn with Rhys and Delly with Vick. Later that afternoon, the group of four grows by one – Farad of District 3, Wiress’ grandson. Just minutes before they reach the edge of the quadrant another, stronger quake hits. Vick falls to the bottom of a chasm that opens with the force of the quake. His allies can’t extract him from it. His cannon fires several hours later.

About a month into the Games, while talking next to a small and well-concealed campfire one night, Mairenn and Rhys come to the conclusion that the Gamemakers are trying to manipulate the tributes who were hand-picked – those who are close to the rebel victors – into a showdown for the crown. They base this theory on the fact that, because they don’t want to risk hurting each other, they’ve tried to split up three times since Vick accidentally killed Brae, only to be herded back together by the Gamemakers. There’s nothing much they can do with this conclusion, but they are both more careful with their actions, as are the others when Rhys shares their theory with them, especially those actions that could become dangerous for each other.

About the time they come to their conclusions regarding the Gamemakers, a cannon announces the death of another tribute, bringing the total number of dead to 16. Annie is thinking about what Finnick’s niece and nephew said and that District 2 is being punished for Lyme’s rebellion by not being allowed to field a Career tribute this year, since neither Lyme nor Enobaria has any loved ones to be put into the arena. Annie isn’t watching the main feed and whoever dies isn’t near her tributes, so she doesn’t learn that it’s the girl from 7 until after the evening roll call of the dead. Not knowing the identity of the dead child doesn’t change one inescapable fact:

Both Mairenn and Rhys are in the final eight.

xXx

The night of the family interviews sees the sun set in the arena on the fourth time the Gamemakers push the tributes from the rebel districts – 3, 4, and 12 – together after they first started trying to break away from each other. They make camp in the desert, not far from the void. Rhys stands first watch while Mairenn, Delly, and Farad sleep.

Only a couple of hours after she drifts into sleep, Mairenn wakes from another nightmare. They’ve become a nightly occurrence since her first week in the arena. She sits in the dark, brooding. Her arms around her knees, she chews at her lower lip long enough and hard enough to make it bleed. Finnick can practically see the wheels turning in her head, although he doesn’t know what she’s thinking so hard about. He wants to go to her, pull her into his arms, and just hold her, tell her everything will be all right and she’ll be home again soon. But that would be a lie. He knows better than most that no one comes home from the arena; at best, they make for themselves a new home.

“Finnick.” He swivels his chair toward Haymitch and pulls the headset away from one ear. “Flickerman’s interviewing your family.” Finnick sucks in a deep breath. Technically, they’re interviewing Mairenn’s and Rhys’ family. With a glance back at his monitors – Mairenn still broods, Rhys still watches, both sets of vital signs are strong – he follows Haymitch down to the victors’ lounge. Annie is already there, saving a space for him on one of the large, comfortable couches in front of the television. Her hair is tousled from sleep, a rich brown tangle, and she has a blanket wrapped around her. When he sits beside her, she pulls him in under the blanket with her.

 _“… tell us about your daughter, Mrs. Odair?”_ Flickerman sits in an armchair on a soundstage. There are no personal visits to the districts this year, no trips for the tributes’ families to the Capitol. No, between the destruction of large chunks of road and rail lines, the damage done to the districts, the interviews this year are conducted by telephone. The only visual of the families are photographs on a screen behind Flickerman’s head. The picture there now is of Mara Odair standing between her son Xalvador and her youngest daughter, Mairenn. There is no sign in the photograph of either Finnick’s brother Kyle or of his and Mara’s oldest daughter, Alona, both of them convicted of treason in absentia.

“I guess Snow doesn’t want the Capitol reminded of our rebel tendencies,” Finnick remarks. Annie looks at him in question and he nods toward the television. “That was a family portrait Kyle had made for our mother. They doctored it to remove him and Alona.”

 _“She’s a good student, good grades in school,”_ Mara’s voice tells Flickerman, who nods his profound interest. Finnick rolls his eyes. _“She loves to read. She always has a book in her hands.”_

_“Is there a boyfriend in the picture?”_

_“No, not that she ever told us about. She’s only fifteen.”_ Finnick could have told her that fifteen is more than old enough by Capitol standards, regardless of legality, but it’s a nice reminder for the ghouls listening that Mairenn is still just a child.

Over his headset, Finnick hears Mairenn’s voice. _“Uncle Finnick, I know you can hear me. I know that you’re watching over us, you and Annie. It helps a little, knowing that you’re there.”_ He hears a soft hissing sound in the background, but it doesn’t sound threatening, more like she’s running sand through her fingers.

 _“And what do you think about your beautiful little sister making it to the final eight tributes in these Games?”_ Caesar asks Xal.

 _“I don’t know what to think. I…”_ Xal’s voice is far less steady than his mother’s.

 _“Take your time,”_ Caesar offers.

_“I love her. I just want her to come home. But…”_

_“Yes, Xalvador? Did I say that right? With a ‘z’ sound?”_

_“Yeah, with a ‘z.’”_ Xal audibly swallows. _“I want Rhys to come home, too, you know?”_

In Finnick’s ear, Mairenn says, _“I think I know how it’s been for you, all these years. The nightmares. Not being able to sleep, because of the fear, because you’ll see their faces.”_ There’s more of that faint hissing. Finnick closes his eyes and finds Annie’s hand beneath the blanket. Frowning, she leans in closer to him, pulls his head down onto her shoulder so she can share the sound from his headset.

_“That’s right! Rhys Conmara is your cousin, isn’t he? Are the two of you close?”_

_“Pretty close, yeah.”_ Finnick misses the rest of what Xal has to say when Mair continues speaking.

 _“I never thought I’d make it this far, Uncle Finnick. And I know now that I don’t want to go any farther.”_ Finnick’s breath catches in his chest. He has a death grip on Annie’s hand. He opens his eyes, sees both Haymitch and Lyme watching him.

 _“They’re trying to make me and Rhys kill each other, just like they were hoping Delly and Vick would kill each other. We all know it, and I just can’t risk it. I want to go home so badly.”_ Mairenn’s voice catches on a sob. _“I’m so afraid that I want it badly enough that I might… I might…”_ She stops, the words a struggle.

 _“Ah, yes, you are also Mrs. Odair, aren’t you?”_ Finnick experiences a moment of mental vertigo as Flickerman’s voice replaces Mairenn’s. _“This is quite the family affair for you, Mrs. Odair.”_

_“If it would be easier on you, Mr. Flickerman, you may call me Jenna.”_

_“That’s very kind of you, Jenna. Not only are both the District Four tributes this year your grandchildren, but your son is their mentor. How does that sit with you, knowing that at best he can bring only one of them home?”_ Annie slides her arm behind Finnick’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. He feels her trembling; he’s shaking just as hard.

 _“Oh, Uncle Finnick, it’s already bad enough I killed those two kids. I can’t make it go away. I can’t stop seeing them everywhere. I barely know which way is up anymore. What if I really do it, Uncle Finnick? What if I kill him? What if I kill Rhys? What do I do then?”_ Overcome, Mairenn begins to cry, the words no longer merely a struggle, but an impossibility.

On the television but over the phone, Jenna Odair says to her attentive audience of one, _“We all of us know how this works, Mr. Flickerman.”_

_“Please, Jenna, call me Caesar.”_

_“Whatever happens in that arena is not Finnick’s fault. Not his, not Annie’s. They are blameless. And as for Mairenn and Rhys…”_ Her voice breaks and she coughs. When she speaks again, her voice is steady, but there’s a thin thread of urgency in it. _“Oh, Mr. Flickerman, that boy used to follow Finnick everywhere. It drove poor Finn to distraction.”_ Finnick stiffens.

“What’s wrong?” Annie whispers. From his headset, Mairenn’s now wordless misery bombards him; from the Hunger Games interview broadcast, something else entirely is happening, something Flickerman knows nothing about.

“She never calls me ‘Finn.’” His mother continues and he strains to listen to what she isn’t saying.

 _“Rhys was constantly under foot. And of course Finnick was only fifteen, the same age our Mairenn is now. What fifteen-year-old boy wants to be dogged constantly by his four-year-old nephew?”_ Finnick frowns. On screen, Flickerman nods, grinning hugely.

_“I can just picture it.”_

_“All of us, not just the family, but friends, neighbors, half the district it sometimes seemed, we all did everything we could to help Finnick escape.”_ Flickerman laughs. Finnick leans forward in his seat, Annie’s blanket falling away from his shoulders. None of what his mother describes ever happened. _“And then last year, during the Quarter Quell, Annie stayed with us. Rhys followed her everywhere, too. We all knew he had such a crush on her. It was the same thing all over again. We were all willing to do whatever it took to help them escape.”_

Flickerman cocks his head to the side. _“’Them,’ Jenna?”_

Finnick’s mother laughs. _“Oh, goodness. Did I say ‘them?’ I meant ‘her,’ of course.”_

Finnick is vaguely aware of Annie watching him, of Flickerman saying goodbye to Jenna, but he’s no longer listening. He’s too busy processing the fact that his mother just outright told him to take Annie and run, to do what they had to do to escape.

He settles back into the couch and when the sounds of Mairenn crying over Finnick’s headset finally die away, Flickerman is talking to a woman named Saffron from District 11. Finnick met her on Annie’s Victory Tour, but he had no idea that she was Chaff’s girlfriend or that they had a child together until he met Kale during training for these Games. Another child punished for the crimes of her father.

Annie has fallen asleep against his side – she’s been constantly tired these past few days – when Mairenn, her voice still thick with tears, says in Finnick’s ear, _“I love you, Mama. And even though you piss me off, I love you, too, Xal. So much. Don’t forget me.”_

“Finnick, you’d better get up here,” Haymitch calls down from the doorway to the control room.

A sense of unreality washes over Finnick as he pulls away from his sleeping wife. She wakes when his heat is no longer there. She says his name, but Finnick is running up the stairs to the control room two at a time. He doesn’t stop running until he’s in front of the District 4 console.

On his monitor, Mairenn rocks back and forth, crying again, but not the uncontrollable sobs of before. Her heart rate is off the charts. She wipes her eyes on her sleeve, then buries her face in her arms. She just sits there for a couple of minutes, then raises her head again, a resolute expression on her face, very much like the one she wore on Reaping Day as she walked up the stairs to the stage.

 _“Uncle Finnick,”_ his niece says as Annie’s arm circles around Finnick’s shoulders and she presses against him, kissing his hair, _“Annie, please don’t blame yourselves.”_ Finnick reaches up and takes his wife’s hand as tears begin to cloud his eyes.

 _“This has nothing to do with you,”_ Mairenn says as she rolls to her knees and then stands. _“I love you all,”_ she says as she walks toward the void. Annie weaves her fingers with Finnick’s and tightens her hold around his shoulders.

“Oh, Mairenn, no.” For a moment, all Finnick can see is Mags walking into the acid fog.

 _“I don’t want to be a victor, Mama,”_ Mairenn says as she draws closer to the void. _“I’ve seen what it’s done to Uncle Finnick and Annie, and I want even less to kill Rhys or to let him kill me.”_

When she’s about ten feet away from the void, Rhys sees her, starts toward her. _“Mair? Is something wrong?”_

One footstep away from the void, she stops and turns toward her cousin. _“I love you, Rhys,”_ she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Finnick can see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice that she has every intention of walking into the void. He sees it the moment the realization hits Rhys, too.

 _“Mairenn!”_ Rhys screams and lunges for her in a trajectory that would carry them both safely away from oblivion. At the same time, an arrow flies through the space Rhys no longer occupies. Mairenn’s eyes widen as Devon, the boy from District 10, barrels toward her much smaller cousin. She launches herself toward them, shoving Rhys out of the way of the oncoming juggernaut and is herself hit. She lands, Devon sprawled across her, a good ten feet from the void.

District 1’s Rhodi, whose arrow missed, grabs Rhys by the wrist as he runs past the younger boy and swings him around. Delly and Farad, awakened by the sudden noise, come running, weapons ready, but neither one of them is close enough to engage when Rhodi releases Rhys, who, off balance, stumbles directly into the void. Just like that, Rhys is gone.

 _“No!”_ Mairenn screams and shoves Devon off her even as Rhys’ cannon fires, and the only thing that stops her from following her cousin into the void is Devon’s arm around her ankles as he pulls her to the ground and straddles her. He clearly means to choke her to death, but Delly stops running and lets fly a stone from the slingshot Vick taught her to use and Devon falls away from Mairenn, stunned. Farad continues running toward them and slits Devon’s throat and a moment later, another cannon sounds. Rhodi escapes into the dunes on the other side of the void.

Rhys’ monitor and vital statistics are dark. Finnick turns away from his console and buries his face in Annie’s stomach, unable even to cry for the boy he taught to weave nets, to fish with a spear, to surf the not always shallow waves in the gulf back home.

Mairenn’s broken sobs surround him as he clings to Annie. Finnick is vaguely aware of it when Lyme tells Annie to take care of him, that she’ll watch over Mairenn for them both. Someone takes away his headset and the sounds of Mair’s grief are suddenly gone. Just like Rhys. He moans and clutches Annie tighter.

Sometime later, Annie leads him down the stairs to the little room off the victors’ lounge. No one else is there and Finnick doesn’t notice if there’s anyone in the lounge when they pass through it. She pushes him down on one of the narrow beds and then wraps herself around him. He feels her tears on his neck when she buries her face there, but he still can’t cry himself. Slowly, he relaxes in his wife’s arms, closes his eyes.

Sleep doesn’t come.

xXx

Six weeks and four days into the Games, Finnick is asleep downstairs while Annie is on duty in the control room, which is mostly deserted, since only two tributes remain for mentors to watch over: Mairenn, and Rhodi of District 1. It’s the middle of the night in the arena and the feed shows Mair sleeping restlessly near a cave inside of which sleeps a Gamemaker creation closely resembling a mythical dragon. The nights are cold in the desert sector of the arena and the creature within radiates heat. Mairenn lost her blanket and the rest of her supplies two days before, in the course of a Gamemaker-generated tornado.

With Mairenn more or less safely asleep, Annie has plenty of time to think. Two months passed both blindingly fast and maddeningly slowly since Reaping Day. Two months since she and Finnick came back together. Two months since Snow ordered their birth control neutralized.

Annie is almost certain she’s pregnant. She felt this way once before, knows the classic symptoms. She wants to take a test, to make sure before she says anything to Finnick, but she doesn’t think she has that luxury. And she doesn’t want to risk anyone finding out about it in the first place. Max, the president’s assistant, would help her and he’d be discreet, but she has no way of contacting him. Not until after the Games are over and she and the other victors resume their “non-Games duties.” She shudders at the memory of Snow’s last meeting with them all.

A glance at her screen and at Mairenn’s vital signs assures Annie that the girl is still asleep. For the past three days, Rhodi has stalked Mair, but he hasn’t caught her yet. Annie is surprised that the Gamemakers haven’t forced a confrontation; she’s sure that’s only a matter of time. No one expected these Games to last this long. No one expected Mairenn to have a real chance of winning the crown. And poor Mair doesn’t want it. Annie laughs to herself. Hardly any of them ever do, once they have it.

She’s wondering how to approach the topic of her likely pregnancy with Finnick when the aroma of coffee and cinnamon invade the control room. As the scent grows stronger, Annie turns to see Finnick bearing two steaming mugs. He smiles at her and Annie almost throws up on his shoes.

Feeling a little panicked, she jumps up from her chair and rushes past him to the bathroom. She has a vague impression of Finnick’s smile fading and his mouth dropping open in surprise. He doesn’t follow her to the bathroom, for which she’s grateful, and once she rinses her mouth and returns to the control room, he’s at their console, headset in place, one coffee on the counter and the other in his hand. He raises one brow when she sits down next to him.

“I take it you don’t feel like coffee this morning.” She can see both concern and curiosity reflected in his eyes.

“This morning?” Annie frowns and turns toward the clock over the door.

“Six o’clock, babe. Time for my shift.” She notices then that his hair is damp, his shirt a different color than the one he wore when he left a few hours ago.

“You showered.”

“Thank you for noticing.” He takes a sip of his coffee, no doubt the source of the cinnamon, since Annie takes hers black. “Are you okay, Annie?” She stares at him blankly and he catches her hand and tries again. “Why did you leave in such a hurry?” She stares at his mouth and then at his eyes. “You were a little green around the gills…”

“I think I’m pregnant,” she blurts out, her voice only a little stronger than a whisper.

He drops her hand as though stung, opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again, then, “Oh.” Finnick doesn’t say anything else, just very carefully sets his coffee down. It isn’t until he moves his hand away from the mug that Annie sees that his hand is shaking. He sees it too and lays his palm flat on his thigh. He closes his eyes. “How long?”

Annie shrugs, though he can’t see that, not with his eyes still closed. Staring at Mairenn’s vital signs without seeing them, she says, “I don’t know, but something less than two months.” They’ve only made love maybe a half dozen times since the Games began. Too much fear, too much stress, too much uncertainty. It was more important that they simply be together. But then, it hadn’t taken long after they were first reunited in District 13, either.

When Annie looks at Finnick again, his eyes are open. His hands are no longer shaking when he reaches up to cup her face, sliding his hand into her hair and caressing her mouth with his thumb. She leans into his touch and then leans into him. They kiss and Annie sinks into the taste of him, cinnamon and coffee and Finnick.

The sound of an animal roar, shockingly loud over their headsets, makes them both jump. The District 1 mentor, Argent, shouts, “Move, you idiot!” even as Annie hears a scream in her ears by way of her headset. Finnick stands, leans on the console, bringing his face closer to the monitor as though he might reach through it to help his niece. The monitor shows the dragon surging from its cave, straight toward Rhodi of District 1, clamping down on his sword arm with crushing force. The boy tries to fight the beast, but it picks him up and shakes him like a ragdoll, tossing him to the ground only to pick him up and start shaking him all over again.

Mairenn makes no move to escape, just remains huddled in a ball on the sandy ground; her inaction saves her life. A cannon fires. Rhodi is dead.

Mairenn Odair is the victor of the 76th Hunger Games.

xXx

Finnick stares at his monitor. Mairenn is alive. He hears shouting from downstairs – Haymitch, the sound not one of alarm. A woman’s voice joins in, but Finnick can’t make out what either of them says. Annie slides her arms around Finnick’s waist and presses her face to his back, murmuring “She’s alive” over and over into his shirt as Argent walks out of the room.

Finnick doesn’t know what to say. Mairenn is alive, but she doesn’t want to be a victor. She knows too much of what it really means. He doesn’t know if he’s happy she’s alive, or upset that she’s not dead, happy that he and Annie are going to have a baby, or upset that he and Annie are going to have a baby. He can’t process any of it. Only one thing is clear, just then: Annie is there with him, they’re both alive and they’re together. He turns around in Annie’s arms and then leans down and picks her up, carrying her toward the door.

“Put me down!” she demands, half laughing.

“Not a chance. We have a new victor to greet and I’m never letting you go.” Finnick carries Annie downstairs.

Haymitch sits in the center of one of the leather couches, his feet propped on the table across from it, a glass of something in one hand, a coin dancing across the fingers of his other. Darla of District 1 glares at Haymitch from the other side of the table, where she stands between him and the television. The TV shows a bird’s eye view of Mairenn as the hovercraft lifts her from the arena.

“I don’t make the rules, sweetheart.” Haymitch downs the remainder of whatever is in his glass and grimaces. From the level of disgust in the expression and the lack of reaction to the burn, Finnick guesses it’s just water. “Me?” Haymitch continues, still manipulating the coin, looking perfectly innocent. “I’m a convicted criminal. What do I know?”

“What do you know indeed, Mr. Abernathy?” Coriolanus Snow stands just inside the door of the victors’ lounge, flanked by Peacekeepers on either side. His assistant is with him and that man’s eyes are on Annie; Finnick, still carrying her, gently lets her go, setting her on her feet. She doesn’t move away from Finnick, just curls the fingers of her right hand with his left and presses herself into his side.

Snow’s gaze quickly finds them. “Ah, Finnick.” He steps into the room. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your nephew.” Finnick just stares at the man. Snow walks over to the sideboard and pours himself a glass of ice water. The glass is halfway to Snow’s too-red lips when Finnick answers him.

“No.”

“No?”

Without thinking about it, Finnick shifts, the movement barely noticeable, placing himself a little more squarely between Snow and Annie. “No, I do not accept your condolences. You put Rhys in that arena. You do not get to pretend sympathy for his death.” Annie squeezes Finnick’s hand; he doesn’t know if it’s a show of support or a plea for him to stop before he goes too far.

Snow takes a drink, watching Finnick. “Then I suppose you won’t accept my congratulations on your niece’s victory, either.” He sets his glass down and walks toward Finnick and Annie. No one else moves, all eyes on the president. “I had hoped the boy might win, but I suppose a female version of Finnick Odair will be just as appreciated as a younger one.” He moves in closer, close enough that Finnick is nearly overwhelmed by the scent of roses covering the stench of old blood.

The president leans in close to Annie and Finnick so that she can hear him, too, when he asks, “Have you gotten her pregnant again, Mr. Odair?” Annie gasps, the sound quickly stifled as she pushes her face into Finnick’s back. “Forgive my crudeness. I merely ask because my assistant will need to know in regard to scheduling her appointments for the next few months.” Finnick holds himself rigidly in check, the need to smash Snow’s face at war with the need to protect Annie and the child he learned of less than two hours before. Snow takes a step back and smiles. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out in a few days, regardless.” He glances at Annie. “You will of course undergo a full medical examination before resuming your duties as a victor, Miss Cresta.”

Straightening his suit jacket, Snow turns away from them and Finnick closes his eyes for a moment in sheer relief, however fleeting. Annie is a warm, if violently shaking, presence at his back. He won’t let Snow have her. Not her, not Mairenn, and not their child, as yet barely more than an idea. His mother’s message is very clear in his mind.

Finnick opens his eyes to find Haymitch watching him. When Finnick meets Haymitch’s eyes, the older man nods at him and Annie. He makes the coin in his hand disappear with a flourish, and when Finnick nods in return, Haymitch smiles.

Haymitch may not have heard or understood Jenna’s message to Finnick, but he knows just as well as Finnick that none of the Odairs can remain in the Capitol.


	5. Let's Blow this Popsicle Stand

Fifty-four days after she and twenty-three other children go into it, the Gamemakers pull their newest victor, Mairenn Odair of District 4, from the arena. She is dehydrated, half-starved, burned by the sun, and, ironically, suffering from hypothermia. Hunger Games tradition dictates that her mentor greet her at the arena site, but they bypass that tradition for the 76th Games: although her mentor is not considered a flight risk under the circumstances, he is a convicted criminal and security is much tighter in the less chaotic environment of the Hunger Games complex within the Capitol than it is at the site of the arena.

Instead, Peacekeepers take Finnick to the medical facilities within the Remake Center to await Mairenn’s arrival; Annie they take to the fourth floor of the Training Center. Clarinda Pax is there, summoned from her apartment in the Capitol when Mairenn won and ecstatic over the fact that, in her very first turn as an official of the Games, her assigned district is the winner. As Clarinda gushes over this, Annie simply stares at her for a moment before turning her back on the girl and walking to the room she shares with Finnick. She pointedly closes the door on Clarinda’s enthusiasm. Feeling sick, a combination of early pregnancy and simple revulsion, Annie curls up on her side of the bed and waits for her husband. He finds her there asleep nearly nine hours later.

For a week, Annie and Finnick exist in a state of limbo, waiting for Mairenn to recover, at least physically, from the arena. Because they are prisoners of the state, they can’t leave the Hunger Games complex. Their days are unexciting, as far as the average citizen of the Capitol would be concerned. They visit Mairenn for a few hours each day in the medical facility, when she’s not undergoing mental or physical therapy. There isn’t much for the three of them to talk about, or rather there is far too much, and so they sit and do nothing, talk about nothing of consequence. Mairenn generally stares off into space or deep inside herself unless addressed directly.

When they’re not with Mairenn, Annie and Finnick spend time together, just the two of them, in the gardens on the Training Center roof, completely neglected since their glory days before the war, but still peaceful. Or they sit under the trees by the fountain in the courtyard and listen to the water dance. It’s a very different sound than that of the surf on the beach, but it’s still water and thus a tiny slice of home. And, too, they spend a good deal of time in their room. Annie’s sure that if she weren’t already pregnant, she would be after that week with Finnick as they make up for the time lost during the Games, when they were both too tense and too worried about Mairenn and Rhys to want more than the simple comfort of holding each other.

Annie can’t think of Rhys without the grief drowning her. Finnick can’t think of Rhys at all. Not yet.

And when they’re neither with Mairenn nor hiding from everyone, relearning each other after months apart living lives that weren’t their own, Annie and Finnick visit the gymnasium beneath the Training Center. There’s always someone else there, another victor or two, generally the only ones in the complex who use the gym. All eight victors are required to remain in the complex until the closing ceremonies of the 76th Hunger Games are over. On the surface, these meetings are innocuous, just a way to alleviate boredom with physical exertion, but over the years, they’ve all become adept at sideways conversations, at writing and understanding cryptic notes. The victors put that experience to good use.

Without any of their keepers noticing, in twos and threes and sometimes more, but never all eight at once, the victors put together a plan to escape. When the topic is first introduced, it’s only in regard to the Odairs with Annie’s pregnancy as the catalyst, but it quickly becomes clear that if any of them is to break free, they all have to go or those left behind may never have another chance.

Nearly a week after Mairenn exits the arena, Dr. Melissa Muhti certifies her healthy enough, both mentally and physically, to view the highlight tape of her Games and for the final interview with Caesar Flickerman. Once the head Gamemaker receives that certification, she schedules the closing ceremonies for the following evening and Mairenn’s prep and design teams arrive at the Remake Center to work on her look for her interview.

Both Annie and Finnick are with Mairenn when the teams arrive, going through what she can expect from Flickerman and trying to prepare her for just how bad it will be, seeing what the rest of Panem saw of her Games. Annie doesn’t remember much of her final interview and to this day, she isn’t sure that what she does remember really happened at all. It isn’t worth asking Finnick about it. She just listens to what he tells Mair, knowing that he remembers it all for them both.

Once the stylist and prep teams descend on the small hospital-like room, it’s as if Mairenn is a mannequin and Annie and Finnick aren’t there. Mair’s stylist discusses his design decisions with the prep team, never once consulting Mairenn or her mentors. Once it becomes apparent what the stylist has in mind, when Finnick politely asks that Mairenn not be dressed up like a whore, the man asks both him and Annie to leave. When a nervous and unhappy Mairenn pleads that Annie stay with her while the team takes her measurements and works on her color palette, he gives the girl an unadorned no.

Finnick refuses to leave and Annie has no intention of trying to convince him otherwise. They may not be able to alter Mairenn’s costume for the interview, but they can at least offer her what little support they can, both now and when she’s on stage. Cocking his head to one side, Finnick drops into a chair, his expression daring the stylist to do something about it. Obviously, he could call the Peacekeepers and have Finnick and Annie forcibly removed, but he doesn’t and Annie stifles a laugh at the face Finnick pulls when the man turns away from him. Mairenn shoots them both a grateful look, almost smiles for the first time since she left the arena, but her relief is short-lived.

While being obstinate about staying with Mairenn through the stylist ordeal, Peacekeepers arrive. Not Finnick’s and Annie’s usual guards, but new ones who seem to be much more by the book than either Finnick’s Paul or Annie’s Natalia proved to be. There is a whispered conversation between the newcomers, Natalia, and Paul, and then Paul nods and motions for Finnick to come with him.

“The President wants to see you, Finnick.” Annie and Finnick exchange a somewhat worried look. As far as they know, Snow shouldn’t be taking any special interest in any of them. The higher ranking of the new Peacekeepers says something Annie can’t hear and Paul stiffens. Behind them, a Remake Center employee enters through the open door and steps warily around the group of Peacekeepers not quite blocking the entryway, heading over to where Annie stands behind Finnick’s chair.

“Miss Cresta, please come with me. Doctor Muhti is waiting for you in her office.” Annie’s hand tightens on Finnick’s shoulder. First an unexpected summons for Finnick by the president and now… what? An unexpected appointment with the woman who has acted as not just Annie’s doctor, but also as that of the rest of Snow’s pet victors? True, Melissa proved to be sympathetic to Annie as well as to Katniss and Peeta, but that doesn’t do anything to slow Annie’s suddenly racing heart. It doesn’t help that the woman is a former client of Finnick’s.

“Finnick…?” She doesn’t even know quite what she’s asking as he unfolds himself from the chair and stands beside her, never letting go of her hand.

“I have no idea what this is about,” he answers her anyway, frowning.

“Mr. Odair, come with me.” Paul’s voice is a bit strained, unused as he is to treating Finnick like a prisoner after weeks spent developing a working relationship. He reaches for Finnick’s right wrist and fastens half of a set of handcuffs around it. The man who is apparently his supervisor stands impatiently in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Finnick,” Paul says, too low for anyone but Finnick and Annie to hear.

“Don’t worry about it, Paul. I understand.” Finnick doesn’t fight it as Paul cuffs his wrists in front of him and leads Finnick from the room. Annie, worried, joins the Remake Center employee a moment later and her own Peacekeeper escort falls in beside her, just as the elevator door closes on Finnick giving Annie a cocky and yet reassuring grin.

xXx

Finnick is grateful that Paul locked has hands in front instead of behind Finnick’s back, because even a short ride is uncomfortable when you have to sit on your hands with hard-edged metal bracelets digging into the bones of your wrists. There were quite a few people bustling about the business areas of the presidential mansion; Finnick’s even more grateful that, when they arrived, Paul removed the cuffs without bothering to consult with his fellow Peacekeeper, a woman whose rank indicates she’s a step down the ladder from Paul.

The ride from the Remake Center didn’t take long and now, after a brief dance in the outer office doorway with a man who was just leaving when the Peacekeepers tried to push Finnick in, Finnick sits beside Maximus Hopewell’s too-neat desk, waiting. Paul stands alertly beside and a step behind his chair and the female Peacekeeper whose name Finnick didn’t bother to learn stands almost at attention beside the door into Snow’s private office.

Ten minutes of waiting and Finnick is bored and jittery, playing with a pen he found on the floor; it probably fell from the desk at some point. Tapping the pen on the edge of the desk or his knee, he decides to keep it up when he sees that the rapid tapping annoys the female Peacekeeper. Petty, yes, but what else does he have?

Snow’s assistant, coffee skinned and gray eyed, not the same man Finnick dealt with for years before the war, walks out of Snow’s office and glances at the Peacekeepers. He takes another step toward his desk, but then stops, his attention entirely on Finnick. Annie called the man Max, Finnick recalls.

“Mr. Odair? What are you doing here?” Finnick stops tapping.

“The president wanted to see me?” Max looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“No.” He draws the word out, shaking his head in negation, and looks back and forth between Finnick and the Peacekeepers occupying his office. “Not that he’s told me.” Finnick raises a brow at that and stares at the Peacekeeper by the door, who was with Paul’s supervisor when he ordered that they bring Finnick here. She clears her throat.

“Officer Telarek received a call from this office regarding a meeting between Mr. Odair and the president.”

“No, Officer Telarek didn’t,” Max says. “There’s no such meeting.” _Interesting_ , Finnick thinks. _Incompetence within the Peacekeeper ranks? Who knew? Guess all the good ones died in the war._ Snow’s door opens.

“What’s going on out here, Maximus?” Snow looks at Finnick and Finnick shrugs.

“I’m sorry, Mr. President.” Max glances at Finnick as well. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding.”

Still looking at Finnick, Snow stands aside and gestures with one hand toward his office. “As long as you’re here, Mr. Odair, we might as well have a little chat.” Finnick stands, much preferring a quick return to the Remake Center or the Training Center or just about anywhere else, so long as it isn’t Snow’s office. When Paul moves to follow, Snow stops him. “You may remain here.” Snow glances briefly at Finnick as he passes and then turns toward his assistant.

“Maximus, please call Mr. Rothman and tell him that Miss Cresta will be available tomorrow evening, if he’d like to schedule an appointment.” Finnick stumbles, catching himself on the back of the chair in front of Snow’s desk.

_Harsh hands. Sharp teeth and sharper blades. The smell of blood. Bright lines of pain slicing along his skin._

“Let me know the details when it’s done,” Snow continues as he follows Finnick into his inner office.

As Finnick drops heavily into the chair, he sees through the still open door that Max knows Terrence Rothman and his penchant for knives. The man’s face is ashen as he sits behind his desk. In spite of the pair of Peacekeepers still occupying the outer office, Max pinches the bridge of his nose as if he’s in pain before picking up the phone. Finnick’s fingers dig into the chair arms so hard he’s surprised they don’t punch through the leather as Snow closes the door, cutting off Finnick’s line of sight.

Snow perches on the edge of his desk and cocks his head to the right. “I apologize for the inconvenience, Finnick. I gave my assistant a message to deliver to you. Apparently he in turn gave it to a Peacekeeper. I’ll have to talk to him about proper delegation.” Finnick doubts the miscommunication had anything to do with Maximus Hopewell. For whatever reasons, Annie likes and even respects the man, says that Max does little things as he can to make life easier for her, for Katniss and Peeta, too.

“What message?” he asks Snow. Finnick just wants to be out of this room and out of this man’s presence as quickly as possible.

“Simply that, as you will accompany your niece to District Four for her victory celebration, which will of course be televised…”

“Of course.” Finnick rolls the pen between his fingers. He saw for himself at the pre-Games party the way Max watched Annie. He doesn’t like the idea of another man in love with his wife, but he certainly understands it. As he thinks about the president’s assistant, an idea starts to tickle at the back of Finnick’s mind.

“…you should have a care for your behavior. I wouldn’t want any… unwise conversations or actions to result in Miss Cresta coming to harm.” Finnick stares at him, but says nothing. He knows Snow wants him to reply to that, to protest that he won’t say or do anything inappropriate, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You should know, too, Finnick, that I’ve had a great many inquiries into your availability. I’ve had Maximus approach Miss Blalock regarding the terms of the remainder of her contract and she is considering releasing you from it.” Finnick closes his eyes, but still says nothing. He’s not happy about the prospect of yet more clients, but neither is he looking forward to Regina. If all goes well, it won’t matter anyway.

A buzzer sounds and Finnick opens his eyes as a light on Snow’s desk begins to flash yellow. The president leans back and presses a button. Max’s voice announces, _“Miss Cresta will be joining Mr. Rothman at his home tomorrow at 6:00 p.m., Mr. President.”_

His eyes on Finnick, who holds himself as steady and unaffected as he can, Snow thanks Max and stands. The president rounds his desk and takes a seat behind it and that breath of an idea crystallizes in Finnick’s brain. While Snow moves, he’s not paying attention to Finnick, who quickly writes two words onto the palm of his left hand with the pen he never let go of. By the time Snow is looking at him again, Finnick is still, pretending to the boredom he no longer feels. Snow sighs.

“You may go, Mr. Odair.” He waves one hand and turns to the paperwork on his desk.

Finnick leaves Snow’s office much more slowly than he’d like, but he doesn’t want to draw Snow’s attention again. When he steps into the outer office, Max is writing something into a ledger. _Stay calm, Finnick_ , he tells himself.

“Time to go,” Finnick says to Paul, who moves toward the outer door. Paul’s temporary partner’s attention is on Paul for only a couple of seconds. Long enough. Taking a chance, Finnick holds up his hand so that Max can read the two words written there: _Help us._ Max stares at Finnick for a moment, but gives no indication that he sees the words written on Finnick’s hand. The moment passes and Finnick begins to breathe again, not realizing that he held his breath until his lungs protest. He doesn’t know what he expected – hoped for? – as first he and then Paul follow the female Peacekeeper through the door.

“Mr. Odair!” Max calls from the doorway and Finnick turns to see Snow’s assistant holding a folded piece of paper in his hand. “You dropped this.”

Frowning, hope rising inside him, he takes the two steps necessary to reach Max and takes the paper from his hand. He thinks Max shakes his head “no,” but isn’t sure. Unfolding the paper with one hand, he pats at his jeans with the other as though checking for something in his pockets. _T.C. roof 0100_ , the paper reads. Finnick meets Max’s eyes, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Sorry. Not mine.” He hands the paper back to Max.

“My mistake. It must belong to Mr. Sudarshan.”

Finnick shrugs and half smiles, wondering if that’s the man who was leaving when Finnick got there. “I hope it’s nothing important.”

“Probably just some life-changing appointment.” Max smiles at Finnick. “I’ll figure something out.”

xXx

Although the Remake Center employee told her that Dr. Muhti was waiting when she came for her, Annie waits for Melissa in her office in the Remake Center. The office is small, so her Peacekeeper guard, Natalia, waits in the hallway outside. Annie sits in the chair beside Melissa’s desk with her knees drawn up to her chin, thinking about the evening to come.

All of the victors will be on hand for the final interview tonight – there are always visiting victors in the audience for reaction shots, but there are so few left alive. Snow wants the end of the Games to be as normal as possible for the average citizen.

As they made their plans, in the gym, in the courtyard, on the Training Center roof, they came to the consensus that the best opportunity for escape won’t be right after the interview, even though it will likely be chaotic, but rather during transport to the districts or to their apartments in the Capitol, as the case may be.

All Annie knows is that she wants it all to be over with. She wants to go home and she wants to be with Finnick and she knows that, unless they find a way to disappear when the time comes – and no one has yet figured out just when that time will be – she won’t get either of these things that she wants.

It’s getting hard for her to keep track of what she should believe anymore. On the one hand, she’s here now, in Melissa’s office. There’s only one reason she could be here and that’s for Melissa to make sure she can return to her “non-Games duties.” On the other hand, Finnick and the others have such high hopes that they can win their freedom, that they can, if not return to their districts, at least find a place away from the Capitol. Going forward could mean death, cold and irrevocable, but not going forward will certainly mean death of another sort, death by inches as every touch of a stranger takes a little bit more of her soul.

And there’s the baby to think about. Annie wants to be happy that she and Finnick are pregnant again, but she can’t. Not if Snow finds out about it. And he will find out about it. If not when Melissa reports it to him, then by simple observation during one of those awful little chats he likes to spring on her. Annie lays her cheek on her knee and stares at nothing, rocking within the confines of the chair.

“Ah, Mrs. Odair,” Dr. Muhti greets Annie with a small smile as she walks through the door. Melissa Muhti has taken care of any medical needs Annie has had since the awful day they met. She is also one of the few people who acknowledges that Finnick is Annie’s husband, not an on-again-off-again lover as the tabloids portray them.

Melissa moves to her desk, unlocks it, and rummages inside it, pulling out a single key, a pad of paper, and a pencil. She makes a notation on the paper, which Annie sees from her angle is a blank medical form. “Your arm, please, Annie. I need to draw some blood.”

Annie’s eyes meet Melissa’s, but she doesn’t hold out her arm, as requested. “I already know what your tests will tell you.” Melissa studies Annie’s face before her eyes drop to look at the way Annie curls protectively around herself, even though she’s technically sitting.

“You’re pregnant,” Melissa states and Annie nods. “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Her question seems genuine – genuine curiosity as to Annie’s feelings, genuine belief that Annie should be happy about it.

“He can’t have this one,” Annie whispers without explanation, but understanding blooms in Melissa’s eyes. She says nothing as she nudges Annie’s arm; after a brief hesitation, Annie unfolds herself, sets her feet flat on the floor and lifts her right arm for Melissa to take her blood sample. Melissa sets one filled vial in a rack on her desk and then fills a second vial.

“I’ll be back in few minutes, Annie. I want to start these processing.” Annie nods. What else can she do? She’s not the one in charge. She leans back in the chair, slides down until her head rests on the back of it and then closes her eyes.

When Melissa returns, she continues with a quick physical examination of Annie, shining a light into her eyes, testing her reflexes, things like that as she makes notations into the form she earlier pulled from her desk drawer. In the middle of scribbling more notations on the form, Melissa’s voice startles Annie from the twilight world between sleep and waking that she had slipped into.

“That was the single most difficult thing I have ever been required to do.” Melissa’s pencil continues to scratch across the paper. “It was so clear that neither of you wanted it to happen. I thought there must be some mistake. I called Cori directly, but he assured me there was no mistake and told me in no uncertain terms to see to it myself.” She looks up from her form then and meets Annie’s gaze. “I promise you, Annie, it will not happen a second time.”

Annie nods and looks away from the other woman, not wanting her to see the sudden hope her words kindle. Her gaze falls on a framed photograph on Melissa’s desk – an older man standing with his arm around the shoulders of a young man with Melissa’s eyes, both of them smiling. Father and son. She glances back at Melissa, reading through previous notations made within Annie’s file, and then she looks back to the photograph. Husband and son.

“Did Snow kill them?” she asks. Silence. Annie looks up to see Melissa staring at her. She nods toward the picture. “That’s your husband and son, isn’t it? I remember hearing something about an accident…” Melissa reaches blindly behind her and pulls her own chair out from under the desk. She drops into it and Annie sees that her hands are shaking. “Why did he do it?” Melissa doesn’t answer, just covers her eyes with one shaking hand.

Annie slips from the chair and kneels in front of Melissa. She reaches up to take the older woman’s hands in hers, forcing Melissa to look at her. “I’m sorry,” she tells her. Melissa squeezes her hands and then pulls away from Annie. Standing, she busies herself with organizing the file folder. Annie stays where she is, simply shifts so that she’s sitting on the floor rather than kneeling, her back against the leg of the desk chair.

Not looking up from the folder, Melissa whispers, “I don’t know why he did it.” But Annie can hear the lie in her voice.

“Yes, you do,” she says. “It was because of me, wasn’t it? Me and Finnick? Because without meaning to, we made you question him.” She looks up when the sounds of shuffling paper stop, but Melissa doesn’t answer. “It’s what he does.” Annie thinks of Finnick’s brother-in-law, of Haymitch’s mother and brother and girlfriend, of Johanna’s entire family. “It’s how he makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do.”

Melissa closes the file. She steps around Annie and her chair and sits in the one Annie vacated earlier. “Katniss Everdeen approached me this morning.” She’s still whispering, but this time it isn’t because she can’t force more strength into her voice. Annie holds her breath. Melissa’s eyes meet Annie’s. “You can tell her I’m in.”

xXx

Finnick doesn’t know what to expect when he arrives on the Training Center roof. He’s a little early, ten minutes maybe, but he thought it better that way. The post-Games party, bookend to the pre-Games party except that it’s held in the lobby of the Training Center rather than at the president’s mansion, was still going strong when he slipped out. The president wasn’t there, but Max was, as Snow’s representative.

Finnick is alone, not wanting to risk exposing any of the others, although he spoke to both Haymitch and Lyme about Max and his note. That way if anything goes wrong, if Finnick just disappears or the like, they’ll know the plan may have been compromised. He’d wanted to tell Annie, too, but the opportunity never arose.

The roof is deserted. He walks through what used to be gardens. The benches are still there and the wind chimes, but the plants all died, neglected during the war. No one bothered to replace them. To the sound of the chimes and the rustle of dead leaves, Finnick walks to the low wall that comprises three sides of the roof, tosses a broken bit of pottery over the side to see if the force field is still in good working order. The bit of clay flies back at him and he grimaces, not really surprised.

Resting his forearms on the railing, he looks out over the city, the cacophony of light that maintains the illusion that the Capitol never sleeps. Ribbons of light radiate out from the City Circle, red and white, the taillights and headlights of cars on the streets, a forest of brilliant white and subdued yellow rising up in between, buildings containing businesses and homes. Everything about the Capitol looks better at this distance, like an abstract work of art that covers up the rot beneath the veneer.

Melissa Muhti apparently agreed to help Katniss and Peeta make their break, or so she told Annie during her medical exam. Later that afternoon, she had also confirmed – unofficially, so that she didn’t have to report it to Snow yet – that Annie is pregnant. Enobaria is taking care of Lyme and Beetee. He doesn’t know any of the details they’ve worked out, nor does he want to. That’s how they got as far as they did in their failed rebellion; it wasn’t until Coin decided she knew better than the rest that things fell apart. Other than the District 4 contingent, that leaves only Haymitch, who will be traveling back to 12 on his own. Finnick is hoping to nail something down with Max regarding him, too.

A sound behind him, the scrape of shoe against concrete underneath the masking wind chimes, alerts Finnick that he’s not alone. He turns, facing toward the door back into the Training Center, expecting to see Maximus Hopewell. Instead he sees a red-uniformed Avox. She hasn’t spotted him yet and he steps away from the wall. The movement draws her attention and with a pasted on smile, she walks toward him, tray in hand.

Finnick meets her halfway. She bobs her head and raises the tray a couple of inches, offering him a drink and a small bundle. The drink turns out to be a strawberry daiquiri, what Johanna used to refer to as fruity crap. She always gave him grief for not drinking like a man. He smiles at the bittersweet memory. Her tray empty, the Avox curtseys and when Finnick thanks her, she nods and leaves the roof.

Alone again, Finnick returns to his place overlooking the city, his back to the single camera building security maintains on the roof. He takes a sip of the daiquiri and sets it on the ledge, then opens the little bundle. The wrapper is actually a sheet of paper with a hand-written note on the inside. It covers three old-fashioned matches. Finnick laughs. Max provided light to read the note by and the means to destroy it without a trace. He doesn’t need the light of the matches, though; the moon is bright enough that he can read the note.

_D4 – south rte, detour thru 11, debris on tracks 50 mi from border 4. LEAVE. D12 – north rte, “robber attack” btwn 7 & 9\. LEAVE. Cap – car accident. LEAVE. Good luck. M_

Finnick stares at the note. This time, when hope wells up inside him, he doesn’t try to choke it down. This time, he lets it dance as he blinks back sudden tears. He reads the note again and again, committing it to memory, then, folding it twice, he puts two of the three matches between the folds and sets it down on the ledge, blocked from the camera by his body. He lights the third match and sets the whole thing ablaze.

It could all be a trap, but he doesn’t think so. He’ll have to get word to Haymitch about the diversion, which Finnick assumes is the reason for the northern route back to 12, rather than the more direct eastern train. And if he and Annie and Mair get off the train in 11, about 50 miles from the border with 4, they should be fine making their way to the coast on foot or hitching the occasional ride. Going south through 4, then detouring east through 11 gets them past the worst of the desert that comprises the northern parts of District 4. There’s another border with 4 in that direction where the fishing district pushes up into 11 again, maybe ten miles across, and then another 20 or so to the gulf.

“Max,” Finnick whispers into the night, “you are amazing. I hope you can hide your tracks as efficiently as you’ve arranged our escape.”

Hearing the door open behind him, Finnick brushes the ashes off the ledge and picks up his drink.

“Finnick?” He turns at the sound of her voice, everything in him drawing toward her.

“Annie, I’m here.” Bathed in moonlight, she is silver and shadow and her answering smile lights up the night. Grinning, he takes another sip of his drink and sets it back down on the singed spot left behind on the ledge, then hurries over to his wife, sweeping her into his arms and a whirling, swirling dance through the dead garden. Her surprised laughter is the only music he needs.

xXx

Annie returns to the lobby from a quick trip to the bathroom only to find that Finnick is gone. She spins around, her skirt tickling as it swirls around her knees, and sees him across the room, stepping into one of the glass elevators. He told her that everything was in place for tomorrow, but still he’s been on edge all evening.

Mairenn’s interview went well, far better than Annie’s own, six years ago. Mr. Flickerman had been gentle with Mair and she’d answered every question clearly, if briefly. The only questions she’d balked at had to do with Rhys and with Finnick, with her father and older sister. In fact, she sidestepped everything to do with her family. During the tape of the highlights of her Games, she stared straight ahead, not looking at the screen, her knuckles white as she gripped the arms of her chair, but she hadn’t cried or screamed or checked out.

When the interview was over, the party began in the lobby of the Training Center and it was in full swing when Annie and the others arrived. Dancing and drinking, discussions of the Games, people clamoring for Mairenn’s attention. It was all a little overwhelming. And Annie wasn’t feeling well, which didn’t help. This last one was her fourth trip to the bathroom in the hour and a half since they arrived at the party.

No one seems to be paying her any attention now, so she starts to go after Finnick. Whatever he’s doing, she’d rather be with him than in this press of people, even if she does feel as though she’s abandoning Mairenn. She doesn’t get more than a half dozen steps toward the elevator when a hand at her wrist stops her.

“May I have this dance?” Haymitch Abernathy asks, releasing her wrist and bowing low. Annie is so startled at the sight that she laughs and looks around again to see who’s watching. Max smiles at her from where he’s talking to Mairenn and Claudius Templesmith. Annie turns back to Haymitch, still smiling.

“Haymitch, what’s going on?” But Haymitch is no longer smiling. Annie follows his gaze to Mair and Max. “What’s wrong?”

“What the hell is he still doing here?” Haymitch mutters.

“Who?” He looks back at Annie again and his smile is forced. He offers her his hand and pulls her into a dance; she’s a little surprised at how good he is at it as they spin about the room.

“Hopewell.” He looks at Annie. “He’s supposed to be meeting your husband up on the roof.”

“Oh?” Annie glances over at Max, who is laughing at something Mairenn just said. “And why is that?”

“Later,” Haymitch answers as they swing near to a pair of Peacekeepers. One of them is Finnick’s guard Paul and he looks worried. When he sees Annie and Haymitch, he breaks away from the other Peacekeeper, not Annie’s Natalia, who is watching her from her place near the appetizers. Paul weaves a path between the dancers, who step quickly out of his way.

“Where’s Finnick?” Paul asks her without preamble. Annie glances at Haymitch.

“He went up to the roof for some air,” she tells Paul. She can feel Haymitch watching her; his hand is on the small of her back. “I was just going to join him after this dance.” After a brief hesitation, she innocently adds, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

Paul looks back and forth between Annie and Haymitch. “He shouldn’t have gone without telling me. If you’re joining him, Natalia and I are coming with you.” Annie feels Haymitch tense up behind her.

“Paul, we—” His expression softens.

“We’ll stay inside. You two can have your privacy.” Annie smiles at him, though she’s worried. She didn’t know that Finnick was supposed to meet Max on the roof, doesn’t know why they would meet in the first place. And Haymitch clearly knows something about it, which means that it probably has to do with tomorrow’s plans.

Pretending to a calm she doesn’t feel, Annie says, “Thank you, Paul.” She turns to Haymitch. “And thank you for the dance, Haymitch.” She reaches up to cup his cheek in her hand, stretches to kiss him. Whispers, “I’m going to kill you both for not keeping me in the loop.” Stepping back, she walks steadily to the elevators, the head of a tiny Peacekeeper parade. When she turns again at the elevators, Haymitch salutes her. She ducks her head so that neither Paul nor Natalia sees her roll her eyes.

Just a couple of minutes later, the elevator opens on the short hallway that ends in the door to the Training Center’s rooftop gardens. When they reach it, Paul opens the door for her and the two Peacekeeper guards take up stations to either side of it, allowing Annie to step through onto the roof, leaving them on the other side as Paul closes the door behind her. The only way off the roof is back through that door.

“Finnick?” Annie calls, but she easily finds him, standing at the wall and looking out over the city.

“Annie, I’m here,” he says as he turns at the sound of her voice. She smiles as he sets a glass of something on the ledge and grins at her. He walks toward her and she toward him and they come together in the center of the dried out garden and she laughs when he swings her into his arms and begins to dance. He never has needed any external music to dance with her.

In his arms, she forgets completely that she’s angry with him for keeping secrets, and then she forgets everything but him when he kisses her. Their dance spins them close to the wall; Finnick traps her there with his body.

His mouth and hands are everywhere as the tension they’ve both been fighting finds release in each other. Annie has no trouble keeping up with him as they unfasten whatever is necessary to expose just enough that he can lift her up and push into her as she wraps her legs around his hips and holds on tight.

Skin on skin, with bits of fabric not pushed far enough out of the way causing friction that would be irritating under other circumstances, but instead add another layer of sensation to the pleasure building within Annie, like the rough brick against her back, exposed by the dress she wears. Finnick cries out his release into her skin where neck meets shoulder, the sound muffled. Keeping her pinned to the wall, he reaches between their bodies, finds her with his thumb and moments later she cries out with her own release, the sound loud until he covers her mouth with his once more.

Finally, still kissing her, less urgently than before, he lets her slide down his body until her feet are on the ground. She clings to him for support, her legs a little unsteady. He steps back so he can rearrange his clothing. Annie’s falls into place on its own; he never did take off her underwear, just worked around it. It’s a little messy, but she’ll live.

She traces a line down the middle of his chest, rests her palm against his still-racing heart. Looking up at him she says, “Don’t ever keep secrets from me again, Finnick Odair.” He takes her hand and lifts it to his mouth, kisses her palm.

“I didn’t mean to. Things got away from me and then there was no more time.”

“Haymitch said you were supposed to meet Max?”

“Supposed to. He sent a note instead.” Finnick grins, the sight in the moonlight the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “I think I may be a little in love with your Max.”

Annie chokes on a laugh. “What?”

Finnick kisses her again, whispers in her ear, “Unless he’s playing some double game, he gave us our escape route.”

xXx

Finnick is in the bar car when the train screeches to a halt. He glances at the clock above the bar: 3:48 a.m. Annie and Mairenn are in their sleeping car asleep, oddly enough. Annie had said she was too wired to relax, but when Mair had nodded off beside her, slowly listing toward Annie until the girl’s head was resting on her shoulder, it hadn’t taken Annie long to drift off, too. Feeling restless, Finnick had left them there, Annie’s guard Natalia just outside the door.

He still doesn’t know how they’re going to manage slipping away from Paul and Natalia. Paul is with him in the bar, but refused when Finnick offered him a drink. His refusal was no surprise, but getting him drunk would have made things so much easier. Finnick is more than a little afraid that he might have to kill one or both of them and he so doesn’t want that. But if it comes to a choice between Annie and Mairenn or their Peacekeeper guards, he’ll do what he has to do.

Troubled, he finishes his drink – the same one he originally ordered forty five minutes ago – and sets the glass down on the bar. Heading for the door, he wonders if robbers have attacked Haymitch yet or if Katniss and Peeta have had their “car accident.” Annie was supposed to have been with the younger victors from 12, but when she showed up on the train with Natalia and a story that her schedule had changed, Finnick hadn’t questioned it. They all owe Maximus Hopewell a debt they’ll never be able to repay.

“Wait here while I see what’s going on, Finnick,” Paul says, holding out a hand to indicate that he wait, but Finnick just brushes past him.

“I don’t think so, Paul. I’m making sure Annie and Mairenn are okay.” And awake and ready to go. Annie, of course, knows what’s going on, but Mair does not. They couldn’t tell her, it was too important that her reactions in the interview and the after party be genuine, that no suspicions be raised. Even Katniss had agreed that she should be kept in the dark.

The only thing they’re taking with them is a pack that Annie put together earlier in the day while he kept their Peacekeepers distracted by allowing Mair to draw stories of his childhood out of him. The pack contains what cash they could cobble together as well as a change of clothes for each of them. Luckily, it’s still summer, so they don’t need anything more complicated or bulky than shirt and shorts. The only weapon they’re risking is the fishing knife Finnick carries in the back pocket of his jeans.

When Finnick and Paul reach the sleeping car, Natalia is agitated. “Where have you been?” she demands of Paul with a glare at Finnick. “Get in there with your women, Mr. Odair,” she orders. “You stay out here.” She all but physically places Paul against the wall beside the door. “I’m going to see what the hell is going on.” _One down…_ Finnick thinks as she closes the door and locks it.

Annie is already at the window, the pack at her feet. “I was getting worried,” she says over her shoulder as she works the hidden controls on the window. That’s another thing they have to be grateful to Max for: they were supposed to be in a car without working windows. Neither of their guards ever thought to check, but Finnick had. He hurries over to help Annie with the window when it appears to be stuck.

“What’s going on?” Mairenn asks sleepily from where she still sits on the bed.

“We’re escaping,” Finnick tells her. “Sorry I couldn’t mention that to you earlier.” He gives the corner of the window a hard shove and it drops with a thud that makes both him and Annie wince. Annie gives him a look and he shrugs. “Get your shoes on, Mair, we’ve got to go.” After a moment’s hesitation, she rolls off the bed and reaches under it for her shoes.

“All right. You first,” he says to Annie, punctuating it with a quick kiss. She strokes his cheek and smiles, steps up onto the chair they dragged over to the window. When she’s half in, half out, he hands her the loaded pack and she slips the rest of the way out, dropping the pack to the ground and following it down. “Mair.” Finnick gestures for his niece to hurry, glancing at the door, a little surprised that the loud opening of the window didn’t cause Paul to at least question that everything is okay, if not actually try to open the door.

“I’m coming, Uncle Finnick.” She finishes tying her left shoe and skips over to him, stepping up onto the chair as Annie had a moment before. And that’s when the Peacekeeper on the other side of the door tries to open it. The lock rattles, followed quickly by a knock.

“Go,” he tells Mairenn, fishing the knife out of his pocket as he moves to the door.

“But Uncle Finnick—”

“Go, Mairenn! I’ve got this.” Before he has a chance to do anything, even open his knife, the door bursts open and crashes against the wall. “Mairenn, now!” Finnick shouts and she finally swings her leg up over the window and slithers through it.

Finnick finds himself staring down the barrel of a gun as Natalia backs him further into the room. For an instant, he wonders if he could make it through the window before she put a bullet into his head, but looking into her eyes, he thinks not. He’s better off delaying them here and hoping that Annie leads Mairenn away. If at least they can get away, he’ll accept whatever happens to him.

“Finnick!” Annie’s voice. He closes his eyes. Of course, she won’t leave him. If their positions were reversed, he wouldn’t leave her, either. When he opens his eyes, Natalia still has her gun trained on him. She stands between him and the door; he already knows he can’t make it to the window.

“What the fuck are you doing, Odair?” she asks. Eyes locked on Finnick, she calls to Paul. “Rubius, restrain him.” She barely finishes her order when she falls unconscious to the floor. Peacekeeper Paul Rubius stands behind her, the butt of his rifle wrapped in a pillow to soften the impact. Finnick stares, unable to even process what just happened.

“Go, Finnick. I’ll take care of Natalia.” He kneels beside his fellow Peacekeeper and checks her for a pulse, a look of relief on his face when he finds one.

“Paul? You realize you just committed suicide…” The Peacekeeper shrugs and then pulls his handcuffs from his belt, slaps them onto Natalia’s wrists.

“Only if they catch us.” He glances up at Finnick. “Are you still here?”

Outside the window Annie calls, “Finnick, please.”

“Thank you,” Finnick tells Paul and steps out through the window.


	6. If I Had a Boat

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Mairenn whispers. The sound is very loud in the night for all that the girl is trying hard to be quiet. When Annie looks over her shoulder and makes a sharp gesture with one hand, indicating silence, Mair mouths “sorry” and fades back a couple of feet. Even so, Annie understands how she feels. None of them believes that stealing is anything but wrong, and yet, here they are, stealing a boat from a private dock on the coast of District 11.

Before tonight, Annie never thought about the hundreds of miles of coastline District 11 boasts or just how much shipping they do, not just by train to the Capitol, but also by cargo ship to neighboring Districts 4 and 12. There’s almost as much sea traffic in 11 as in 4, although none of it is fishing, and District 6 oversees all shipping between districts regardless of mode of transportation. No natives of 11 act as anything but the occasional able-bodied seaman; the fields and orchards have a greater need of warm bodies.

It’s been a week since they escaped the train taking them from the Capitol to District 4. A week on the run, living off the land, careful to avoid human contact whenever possible. Peacekeepers are hunting them, and wanted posters started popping up two days ago, nailed to fence posts along the road. Until they saw those, they’d thought only to stay away from towns, but now they travel strictly at night, when the workers are in their homes from dusk to dawn. The reward offered for Paul’s capture is almost as large as for Annie and Finnick; there’s no reward for Mairenn’s capture, since she isn’t technically a criminal, but there is one for information on her whereabouts.

The afternoon before, Paul had shaved his head – Annie was surprised at how drastically it changed his appearance – and, reasoning that it was better to risk one than all, had gone into a nearby town for information and supplies, purchasing what they needed with some of their precious cash. Thanks to Peacekeeper Paul, as Finnick teasingly calls him, Annie’s hair, which is growing out and brushes the tops of her shoulders now, is as black as midnight, while Finnick’s is the same chestnut brown hers is beneath the dye, and Mairenn’s is strawberry blonde. It isn’t much, but at least none of them completely matches either the photograph or the physical description listed on the posters.

Paul had returned to their little camp in an abandoned way house, its roof long since caved in and weeds and vines all but consuming the walls, a few hours later and distributed his purchases, which also included a simple change of clothes for them all. Paul was the only one of them who could blend in physically, provided he stopped carrying himself like a soldier, but they’d all stick out a little less if they wore the light-weight, light-colored clothing the workers wore.

Pulling on his new shirt, Finnick said, “I take it things went well?”

Paul shrugged. “Could have been better, might’ve been worse.”

“What happened?” Annie asked, taking a bite of an apple. She had been a little leery of it – she hadn’t been able to keep anything down for the last two days – but it tasted good and the all-too-familiar nausea had stayed away.

“Three Peacekeeper patrols, but I managed to avoid them,” he told them as he pumped water, filling a metal bucket they’d found inside the way house. It was about the only thing that no one had bothered to steal. “And I’m sure the clerk in the shop where I bought the dye recognized me, but for whatever reason, she didn’t turn me in.” He handed a cup of water to Mairenn, sitting next to him braiding her hair, and scooped another from the bucket for Annie.

“Maybe we should find a boat somewhere,” Mairenn had suggested, “and try to get home by sea instead of shadowing the coast road.” Finnick looked up from rummaging in the bottom of the sack of provisions. “I miss being on the water,” she said, a little wistfully, but also a little defensively. Finnick grinned at her.

“That’s a damned good idea, Mair. There’re a lot fewer Peacekeeper patrols on the water, and the ones there are would be easier to avoid.” He found what he was looking for in the sack then, pulling up another apple with a flourish.

Annie raised one eyebrow in question. “I’m pretty sure we don’t have enough money for a boat.” Finnick turned his grin on her and the look in his eyes set her pulse racing.

“Maybe we’ll steal one from the Peacekeepers,” he said with a wink.

And now here they are, stealing a boat in the dead of night. Once they made the decision, Mairenn had gone with Paul to the docks the following morning – this morning – since Paul knows nothing about boats, and made enquiries regarding boats for rent or sale. As Annie had pointed out, they didn’t have the money to buy one, nor, as it turned out, even to pretend to rent one, but it was more palatable to steal something that no one was using for their immediate livelihood. Stealing a Peacekeeper boat was too far beyond their current capabilities.

Mairenn had settled on a hundred foot ketch, newly refitted and available to rent for pleasure cruises along the coast. No one but rich tourists and the profiteers that flooded the district could afford her. The advertisement claimed comfortable living quarters for up to six and that a crew of four experienced sailors could easily manage her. Less easily with three, Finnick said, but Paul could learn. Paul himself had looked dubious.

Finnick should be on the ketch by now, Annie judges; as if on cue, she hears the deep, throaty purr of the engines. With a glance at the landward end of the pier where Paul watches for any signs of movement from the house, Annie stands. She motions Mairenn forward and whistles for Paul. A quick survey of the house when they first arrived confirmed that whoever lives here is among the very rich of the district: closed windows, an air conditioning unit pumping cool air into it, electric lights and television on inside. Unless one of the inhabitants of the house is actually outside in the sticky late summer night, no one should hear them.

Once Annie’s sure Paul heard her signal, Annie heads up to the boat to help Mairenn cast off. The dock sways with Paul’s footsteps as he runs to join them. Annie waits until Paul is aboard to jump the gap herself, slipping a little with the boat’s motion, but she grabs onto the railing before she falls.

Under a star-filled sky with no trace of a moon, they pull away from District 11 and out to sea, heading west and south toward home.

xXx

It takes about two weeks to make their way from District 11 to more familiar waters. Her previous owners had outfitted the ketch with state-of-the-art electronics and all the best furnishings and equipment, but at least as far as the electronics are concerned, Finnick isn’t using them. Anything electronic is suspect; he doesn’t want to risk any kind of passive feedback or monitoring to allow the Peacekeepers or the rightful owners to be able to track her down. It’s been a while since he’s had to navigate by paper charts and a sextant, chronometer and sighting tables, but it comes back to him quickly, learned as a boy from his cautious father. And he has to admit that he enjoys it.

Annie and Mairenn are teaching Paul how to sail and it’s kind of fun to watch that, too, although for the first few days, his former Peacekeeper guard was too miserably seasick to make it out of his cabin. Finnick tried to tell him that he might actually feel better up on deck in the sun and the wind, but Paul was having none of it. It took him five days before he ventured topside only to puke his guts out over the side, but even Paul had to admit it was better than having to live with the stench from the bucket by his bed, especially in the summer heat.

Finnick eyes the cloudless sky, a brilliant, deep blue overhead. It’s still hurricane season, but so far, the weather has cooperated and they’ve been able to run under sail for almost the entire time, which is good, because they don’t really have a way to refuel at the moment. Once they use the stores they have, they’ll have to find a way to steal more fuel, too. Of course, if his mother was right, they might just be able to sail openly into the public wharves near where his parents’ house used to be. Finnick isn’t ready to risk that yet; instead, they’re heading for Victors’ Island.

Annie told him of the bombings she saw the night the arena fell, when the Peacekeepers took her. Mairenn said she thought the destruction there was reported as total, but he has to see for himself what’s left of the place that became his home, his and Annie’s. And, too, he wants to say goodbye to the other victors who lost their lives there, never having a chance to fight back.

Standing just outside the bridge, leaning on the railing watching Annie, he sees her break away from Mairenn and Paul. Annie says something to Mairenn, probably telling her to keep working with Paul on trimming the sails, and then walks purposefully toward Finnick. She was doubtful at first about her ability to stay focused and present on the open sea. Since the arena, she’s been fine on a boat near to shore, or at least close enough that she can see land, make out the difference between beach and trees, but if they went too far out, she’d panic. Every once in a while, she’d leave him entirely, retreating inside herself to someplace the memories couldn’t reach her.

That had indeed happened when they struck out away from shore and across the gulf, about twenty-four hours after they took the ketch in the first place. Mairenn was terrified that first time; she’d never seen it happen before. It had taken hours, well into the night, nearly dawn before Finnick was able to bring Annie back. And she wasn’t completely free of it for a couple of days after, but each episode was shorter in duration. There hasn’t been another episode for almost a week and looking at her now, she’s more confident on board ship than he’s ever seen her.

“What’s up?” he asks when she draws near. She frowns and turns toward the northeast.

Coming up beside him, she points in that direction. “Do you see that? There, on the horizon?” Just then he sees a flash of light, there and then gone, the glint of sunlight on a flat, reflective surface.

“Maybe it’s just a fishing boat.” But he doesn’t believe that.

Annie shakes her head. “It’s not moving like a fishing boat.” Finnick steps under the canopy and reaches for a pair of binoculars. He finds the spot as it flashes again and it resolves into another boat. It isn’t close enough and his binoculars aren’t powerful enough for him to make out any details, but he’s as sure now as his wife that it isn’t a fishing boat.

“Take the wheel and keep an eye on it,” he tells her as he heads over to Mairenn and Paul.

They’d dodged a patrol four days ago, not getting close enough for them to identify the ketch, her hull emblazoned with the name _Carolina Belle_. Finnick has no intention of keeping that name, although they haven’t decided what to call her yet; they’ve all suggested different options, but none of them stuck. As soon as they make land and can get into a town to purchase supplies – and they’ll have to be frugal with that, as there isn’t much cash left – he plans to at least paint over her identifying marks, if not put a new name on her hull.

Paul is just finishing tying off a line when Finnick reaches them, still watching the flashing smudge on the horizon. “Start teaching him how to take those sails down,” he tells Mairenn. “We’re switching to power.” 

“Trouble?” Paul asks.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet. Company, either way.” He glances at Paul. “I don’t want to wait around to see if it’s Peacekeepers.” The weapons Paul brought with him when he “constructively resigned,” as he so eloquently puts it, are the only weapons they have. Not enough to be able to survive a fight and remain free.

“But shouldn’t we conserve fuel?” Mairenn asks.

“If they’re Peacekeepers and they take us, we won’t have a need for fuel. Besides,” he continues, hoping to take some of the implied rebuke out of his words, “we’ll be harder to see against the glare if it’s just our masts.”

“Finnick!” Annie calls from the bridge. “I think they might have spotted us. They’re turning.”

“Shit.” He turns back to Paul and Mairenn. “Get ‘em down.” Addressing Paul, he asks, “How are you set for ammunition?”

“Two clips for the 9mm and about two hundred rounds for the rifle.”

“All right. Better grab the rifle when you’re done here, just in case.” Finnick heads back to the bridge.

For two hours the Peacekeeper boat – Annie confirms the markings about a half hour after she first spotted it – gives chase, but she neither grows closer nor opens up any distance. About an hour before sunset, she breaks away. Once he’s sure she’s gone, Finnick kills the engine and breathes a cautious sigh of relief, rolling the tension from his shoulders.

Annie comes up behind him and starts kneading the over-tight muscles and Finnick leans back into it with a groan of pleasure. “I might have to ask you to stop in an hour or so.” Annie nips at his shoulder.

“Why did they leave, do you think?” He shrugs.

“I don’t know. Bored, maybe. They can’t have identified us.”

“Maybe they never reported the theft?”

“No. She’s too sweet a boat not to have reported it.”

It’s growing dark quickly when they spot a shadow on the horizon: Victors’ Island. Anticipation and dread war within Finnick as they approach. Hours later, the moon is high in the sky and bathing everything in silver when Finnick drops anchor. It’s bright enough he can see the devastation pretty clearly; where there were once a dozen houses, there’s nothing but piles of wood and brick under that brilliant moon, the glitter and sparkle of shattered glass and shattered lives.

He’d moved into that house on Victors’ Island when he was sixteen, simply because he couldn’t come home from the Capitol and face his parents with the things he’d done and that were done to him. In the years he lived there, it had become home, a place he could just be Finnick without any masks or pretenses or judgments. And then it had become the one place he felt safe, once Annie moved in with him. Now it was gone along with his neighbors and friends.

Annie slips her arm around Finnick’s waist, her presence a warm comfort against his side. He doesn’t realize she’s crying until she tries to take in a deep breath and winds up shuddering with the effort. When he looks down at her, the tracks of her tears glisten on her cheeks. He lifts a hand to brush them away.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He isn’t sure what’s okay, but he can’t stand that she’s hurting.

“No, it isn’t. They’re all dead, Finnick. Angel. Martin. All of them.” He swallows hard past the lump in his throat.

“They never knew what hit them, Annie.” She rubs her cheek on his shirt.

“That doesn’t make them any less dead.” There’s nothing to say to that. He tightens his arm around her. A part of him wants to make Snow pay dearly for that, but he doesn’t say it out loud. He pulls his wife more fully into his arms.

“Are we going ashore, Uncle Finnick?” Mairenn asks from just outside the bridge.

Finnick shakes his head, but then realizes Mair can’t see it; she’s looking toward the island, not him. “No. We’ll sleep here tonight. Daylight is soon enough.” He’s looking at Annie as he says it.

He doesn’t know which of them makes the first move. One moment, he’s looking down at Annie and the next he’s kissing her, or she’s kissing him. It doesn’t matter. Neither of them is aware anymore of Mairenn or Paul, only of each other and the need to take away the pain. They exchange the bridge for their cabin and the comfortable bed there, shedding clothing on the way.

They make love almost desperately, clinging to each other, and when they’re sated, Annie drifts off to sleep and Finnick soon follows. When the nightmares take them, they wake each other and lie together in each other’s arms; Finnick rests the palm of his hand on Annie’s still flat stomach, spreads his fingers to cover the widest span. He lays his cheek on the back of his hand when Annie begins to stroke his hair.

Finnick hums a lullaby to Annie and to the little one inside her; his position is too awkward to sing it and he doesn’t want to move away from where he is. Not now. Not ever. And after a time, he doesn’t have to sing it himself, because Annie sings it for him, the adventures of a little seahorse he’s pretty sure every child in District 4 has heard at least a dozen times. As she sings, she continues to stroke his hair, and eventually he drifts off to a surprisingly dreamless sleep.

xXx

“Do I know you, miss?” the man behind the counter asks Annie as she starts to turn away. Their transaction is already concluded and she can see through the open door behind the shopkeeper the supplies she and Paul purchased stacking up by the shop’s back door for delivery to the dock. Finnick and Mairenn are aboard the ketch, waiting for them to return so they can all head back to Victors’ Island.

Annie shakes her head in denial, panic beginning to rise and clamp a vise around her heart. Even as she begins to say, “No, I—”

“You…!” the man breathes, his eyes widening in full recognition. Paul moves toward them and Annie blinks hard, fast, trying to clear her vision, which is threatening to white out completely as she backs away from the shopkeeper. “Oh, no, don’t you worry, miss. Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispers and he truly looks appalled that he frightened her. With a glance at Paul, who’s close enough now that he could – and probably would – step in front of Annie to protect her, the shopkeeper reaches under the counter.

Paul takes hold of Annie’s arm and pushes her behind him, proving the truth of her thoughts. He starts to reach for the man with violent intent, but Annie stops him. “Don’t,” she gasps as the shopkeeper pulls out a wad of cash and pushes it toward Paul and Annie. Paul stops moving, still standing between Annie and the shopkeeper.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, child,” the man says to Annie and then pulls his hands away from the money, raising them in a gesture of submission. “It’s been all over the news, how you all escaped.” The bell over the door jangles and Annie jumps, her heart in her throat. The man glances at the newcomer and relaxes; Paul does not. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Scala,” the shopkeeper calls, and then drops his voice to a whisper as he looks back and forth between Annie and Paul. “We’re all behind you, one hundred percent.” He nods at the pile of money. “Take it. You need it more than I do, right now.”

Annie steps up beside Paul. “Annie,” he says, but she lays a hand on his arm, silencing him.

“No, sir. You charged a fair price for what we bought. The money’s yours.” The shop is two streets west of the town square, in what Finnick called the black market district, where people don’t question what’s for sale or how it came to be available. The people who deal here are generally poorer than most in the district, a little more desperate. Annie won’t take money from their hands.

Before either of them can say any more, loud voices and louder footsteps approach the front door. “Annie.” Paul’s voice is low and urgent. “Peacekeepers. We have to go.” He looks up at the shopkeeper. “Can we go out the back?” The shopkeeper lifts the hinged countertop and motions them through in answer.

“Close the door behind you,” he tells them, indicating the one directly behind the counter. “My boy will lead you out.”

“Thank you,” Annie says as she slips past him, Paul right behind.

The boy – a young man, really, deeply tanned and maybe sixteen – is the same one who loaded their supplies onto the truck that just left for the docks. “Hi. I’m Luis,” he says, motioning for them to follow him. _Too bad our timing wasn’t better_ , Annie thinks as they go quickly through the back room and out the door to a loading area in an alley. _We could have just hitched a ride to the docks._ The boy motions for Annie and Paul to wait by the door as he runs to the head of the alley.

After checking the people on the street, not the same one from which Annie and Paul came into the shop, Luis jogs back to them and says, “Looks like the coast is clear. If you turn left, it’s only a couple of blocks to—” A piercing whistle interrupts whatever else he has to say and they all look toward the other end of the alley, much closer than the street they need to reach.

A two-man Peacekeeper patrol is there. One of them shouts, “Stay where you are! You’re in violation of order twenty-three.” Paul looks at the boy; Annie can’t look away from the approaching Peacekeepers.

“No more than two people may congregate in the streets at any time without a permit,” Luis says and Paul rolls his eyes.

“Great.” He turns to Annie. “They’re not even after us, but they’ll recognize us pretty quickly when we can’t produce papers.”

The Peacekeepers are close enough to not have to shout when the second one orders, “Get your identification out. We need to see that and your permit, if you have one.”

“And we’re dead,” Paul mutters. Even if Luis somehow has a permit, Paul and Annie have no identification. Whether they’re recognized right away or not won’t matter.

One of the Peacekeepers eyes Paul, frowning. The other holds out a hand toward Annie. “Papers?” Annie looks at Paul.

“Run.” He pushes one Peacekeeper into the other and Annie whirls, dashing toward the street Luis indicated they should take to the docks. There are shouts in her wake, but she doesn’t look back and she doesn’t slow down. Running footsteps are loud behind her, growing closer, but Annie ignores them, other than to hope they belong to Paul, that they didn’t catch him before he could follow her. Relief floods through her when he shouts, closer than she expects, “Keep going!”

At the sound of Paul’s voice, Annie puts on a burst of speed and careens out of the alley and onto the street, momentarily blinded by the bright afternoon sun, no longer blocked by the buildings. Wheeling around the corner to the left, she keeps going. There are people here, coming in and out of or on their way between shops. No cars, though. Everyone is on foot.

“Stop them!” a Peacekeeper shouts. Annie dashes past a wall with layer upon layer of posters and advertisements, including a set of wanted posters with a photograph of her from the night of Mairenn’s closing ceremonies. Annie doesn’t stop. Paul is right there with her, Luis just behind.

As they pass by another shop’s open doorway, a large man pushes a rack of books out onto the sidewalk, right into the path of the oncoming Peacekeepers and Annie swears that it’s deliberate. She risks a glance behind her. One of them manages to avoid it by dropping to the street, stumbling as he runs, slowing him down a little. The other crashes into the cart, sending him backward onto the pavement. Books fly everywhere.

“Right at the intersection!” Luis shouts just before Annie reaches it. She passes onto the new street, at the end of which she can see glistening water and the masts of boats. Her lungs are beginning to burn as well as the muscles in her legs, but still she tries to speed up.

There’s more shouting behind her. “More Peacekeepers,” Paul says. “Don’t stop!”

When they reach the dock, the truck from the shop is just pulling away and Annie sees both Finnick and Mairenn releasing the ropes, eyes on Annie and Paul and their pursuers. Feet pounding on the pavement, Peacekeepers shouting for them to stop, Annie and Paul dive for the boat, Luis along with them. Finnick doesn’t even blink at the new addition, just gives him a hand aboard as Mairenn guns the engines and the boat begins to pull away from the dock.

“Hold!” a Peacekeeper shouts. “You’re all under arrest!” He stops running just short of tumbling into the water and pulls his sidearm from the holster. Another Peacekeeper joins him. “I said stop!” When they make no move to stop and, in fact, begin to speed up as they clear the nearest moored boat, the man fires. He keeps firing until Finnick reaches into the bridge for Paul’s rifle and fires back at them, sending them scrambling for cover. The gunfire from the dock stops.

Handing the weapon to Paul, Finnick observes, “Well, that was certainly an exciting afternoon of shopping.” He winks at Annie and she starts to laugh.

xXx

A couple of days later, they’re out teaching their newest crewmember, Luis Macray, the basics of sailing. They had tried to return Luis to his home after he helped with their latest escape from Peacekeepers, taking him back into town just before midnight that first night and dropping him off at the docks, but he’d shown up on Victors’ Island the next morning in a small skiff. The Peacekeepers who saw him with Annie and Paul were looking for him, not just for questioning, but wanting to arrest him in his own right for unlawful congregation. And since he’s sixteen, the Peacekeepers warned his father that they could charge Luis with treason for his actions. The Peacekeepers had identified Annie and Paul only as potential conspirators, based on the fact that all three ran rather than face questioning, but if there were any more such close encounters… The elder Macray decided Luis was better off, at least for a while, with the Odairs, and Finnick agreed.

As they had done with Paul, Annie and Mairenn work with Luis, while Finnick starts with Paul on some of the more intermediate tasks involved in sailing. It’s a beautiful afternoon, hot in the sun, but with the slightest touch of chill in the air whenever it ducks behind a cloud. Colder weather is approaching and they’re going to have to start thinking about more permanent shelter, but Finnick isn’t sure Victors’ Island is the place to do that.

While they’re on the open water, they come across a smaller fishing boat working their nets. Finnick judges that they’re nothing for them to worry about, so they continue on, teaching Luis how to reef and furl the sails, how to work the winch, and showing Paul how to work with the wind. As the afternoon progresses, the two boats slowly move closer together, too far for a conversation, but close enough for Luis to recognize them: Kian Obispo with his wife and son, a small family operation that trades with Luis’ father from time to time. They exchange waves of greeting, but otherwise mind their own business.

A few hours later, not long after sunset, Finnick and crew are heading back to Victors’ Island. They keep the lights off, just in case there are any Peacekeeper patrols in the area. Since they’re running dark, Finnick has the wheel – Paul didn’t do badly when he could see what he was doing, but Finnick has far more experience. Given the harshness of Capitol quotas, not all of his father’s fishing back in the day was strictly legal.

They’re not far from Victors’ Island when Annie, riding in the bow with the binoculars, calls back to him, “Finnick! Lights up ahead.” After a moment she confirms, “Peacekeepers.”

“Keep an eye on them,” he calls to her and then down to Paul below decks, “Paul, Peacekeepers. Bring your rifle, just in case.”

Finnick holds the wheel steady as Paul comes up, rifle in hand along with a box of ammunition. He heads up to the bow and a moment later Annie joins Finnick on the bridge.

“Take a look,” she says, handing him the binoculars and pointing into the darkness. “It’s definitely Peacekeepers and I think the boat they’ve stopped is the fishermen we saw earlier today.”

Accepting the glasses, Finnick takes half a second to find the lights of the larger boat, an eight-man cutter. Five Peacekeepers stand on the deck of the fishing boat and all three of the smaller boat’s crew are on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Finnick is fairly sure that it is indeed the Obispo family. While he watches, a pair of Peacekeepers moves toward the back of the boat and the day’s catch while the remaining three hold rifles trained on the fishermen.

Lowering the glasses, he tells Annie, “The Obispos are poaching. I’m sure of it. And from what Luis said earlier, I doubt it’s for their own profit.”

“What do you want to do?”

He looks through the binoculars again. Things look even more tense on the little boat as the Peacekeepers who went aft come forward again, one of them tossing a heavy sack to the deck. One of the figures on their knees huddles down, hands over their head, looking so much like Annie in a bad spell that Finnick almost drops the binoculars. Turning back to Annie, he answers, “Whatever we can to help them.”

Frowning, she takes the binoculars again and after a quick glance through them, she nods. “Yes. If we stay under sail, don’t use the engines, they won’t hear us coming until we’re on top of them.”

“Not occupied as they are,” he agrees. “And we’re just far enough out that we should be able to circle around behind them.” The white sails are problematic, easier to spot than gray or black, but there’s nothing they can do about that right now. With the Peacekeepers’ attention on the Obispos, if they’re not in direct line of sight, they should be okay.

“Let me know if anything changes,” he tells Annie and heads back toward the bridge. Luis and Mairenn are there with Paul. “Peacekeepers ahead. They’ve boarded the Obispos.” At the questioning expressions on all three faces, he adds, “I’m pretty sure they weren’t fishing for quota. It looks like they were trying to make their way home dark, just like us.”

“Poaching,” Luis says and Finnick nods. “That makes sense. The Capitol raised the quotas again a couple of weeks ago and they were already high enough they were hard to meet.” He looks at Finnick. “Can we help them? The Obispos?”

Finnick smiles, but still he has to ask, “You think it’s worth us taking on a Peacekeeper cutter?”

“Yes! If Kian had them out poaching, then a lot of people are going to be counting on that food.”

“Mair?”

Biting her lip, she looks from Finnick to Luis to ex-Peacekeeper Paul. “Yes, Uncle Finnick.” Mairenn isn’t too young to have been on one or two of her father’s poaching trips. Finnick’s brother Kyle used to take his own boat out with their father’s, more and more often as restrictions became tighter and quotas higher, before the war.

“Paul?”

Paul shrugs. “You’re in charge.” He gestures with his rifle. “I should be able to take out anyone not in the bridge. Those windows are bullet-proof glass.”

After an hour of maneuvering with the cooperation of the wind and Mairenn and Luis manning the sails, Finnick has the ketch more or less astern and to the starboard side of the cutter. As far as he can tell, they remain unnoticed. When they moved into position, Annie reported that the Obispos transferred their catch from their own holds to the cutter under the watchful eyes of a half dozen Peacekeepers armed with rifles, while two more remained secure behind bullet-proof glass on the bridge. At the moment, all are aboard the cutter save two of the Peacekeepers and Finnick suspects that the pair on board the fishing boat are setting charges to scuttle her.

Looking over his shoulder at Peacekeeper Paul, Finnick says, “Now.”

Paul takes careful aim at the cutter’s communications array and fires, the sound shattering the night and sending poachers and Peacekeepers alike for cover. The box containing the cutter’s transmitter disappears in a brief shower of sparks and smoke. The missing Peacekeepers charge aft on the fishing boat, freeing a dinghy tied there and jumping in, setting it rocking wildly.

“Smoke from the fishing boat!” Mairenn cries out, confirming Finnick’s suspicions. There is shouting aboard the cutter and the dinghy, under power, speeds toward her.

From the bridge, Finnick hears Annie’s voice call out from her lookout position on the bow. “Target, starboard rail, midships.” Another crack of Paul’s rifle and Finnick sees a figure in white go down, a bloom of red on her left shoulder. The cutter’s engines fire up as Annie calmly calls again, “Target, starboard side on the water, moving fast astern.” A crack and the dinghy’s engine falters, another crack and a cry of pain as one of the dinghy’s occupants takes a bullet in the arm.

Again and again, Annie calls out a location in a calm, clear voice. Again and again, Paul’s rifle speaks and a figure in white goes down. Someone from the cutter tries to return fire, but the shots go wild. Finnick doesn’t see where they hit, if they hit anything, but none of his people seem to be hurt. The fishing boat bursting into flame momentarily catches his attention.

“Finnick,” Annie calls, “the Obispos are rushing the bridge.”

“Where are those last two Peacekeepers, Annie?” If Paul can take out those two and the Obispos the captain…

“I don’t see… Wait! Target, starboard side, mid—” A Peacekeeper bullet cuts her off and she goes down without a sound. Finnick’s heart stops beating for a moment, blood roaring in his ears, and the only thing holding him upright is the ketch’s wheel, clenched in a death grip. His vision goes gray at the edges and then…

“ANNIE!” Finnick screams, diving for the opening of the bridge and sprinting across the deck toward his wife. Paul fires again, but Finnick has no idea if he hit his target. All he sees is Annie lying there bleeding on the deck. Before he even reaches her, though, she reaches for the binoculars that fell from her hands and lay inches from the port rail. Finnick skids across the deck, falling to his knees in front of Annie.

“Finnick, I’m okay.” There’s a shout across the water followed by a splash and then two more splashes in quick succession. Finnick runs both his hands and his gaze over Annie, horrified by the bright spill of her blood from a ragged tear in her right arm, illuminated by the flames engulfing the fishing boat. “He just winged me.” Holding the recovered binoculars in her right hand, she lifts her left to cup his face. “Baby, I’m fine.”

Finnick is incapable of speech as he searches her face and then pulls her into his arms. Behind him, he hears Paul take over, setting Mairenn in charge of the bridge while Paul and Luis lower the skiff to head over to the cutter. It isn’t until later that he learns the Obispos threw the cutter’s crew overboard.

“You can either head for the mainland,” Paul tells the Peacekeepers in the dinghy and in the water, “or I can kill you where you…” There’s a pause and then, “… stand?” Finnick hears the irony in his voice. “Your choice.” Finnick doesn’t pay attention to any more of it. His crew seems to have things under control.

“Finnick, we did it,” Annie breathes against his neck and he tightens his arms around her, but then pushes a little away from her. She’s bleeding. He needs to get that bleeding stopped. But her eyes are shining when she says, “We took a Peacekeeper cutter!” She looks up at him and laughs, a glorious sound. He can’t look away. “Finnick, this girl isn’t the _Carolina Belle_.”

“Who is she then?” He smoothes the hair from her forehead, leaving behind a streak of blood. His voice, barely recognizable, isn’t steady. Pulling his shirt over his head, Finnick makes a thick pad of it and presses it against the wound in her arm.

Still smiling, Annie covers his hand with hers. “She’s the _Victorious_.”


End file.
